Keepsake
Tell me that you've felt a failure
In doing what was right
While pillows dampen, salty
Amidst the restlessness of night
A wonder, wonders bless the wicked
And the same thing in reverse
Ensure the gnarled vines of virtue
Aren't easily traversed
With what was once a gleaming moral compass
More a burden than a tool
Its rusting ends give rhyme to meaning well
A witty slogan of the fool
The firmest grasp fatigues to loosen
Slipping chains cut like a knife
In vain, try letting go completely
This blessed curse carried for life
As tainted blood drips from your calloused palm
And every orangy link
Try not to smirk upon the splashes
More rewarding than you'd think
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