My Crooked heart :PT II

But a linear crate, You create your plate in days. The seventh you lay, For labor came to take its wage. A circle, a grave we say— Ohh, we are safe! She lays in weight, To maim and tame it seems. Heavy to souls lost in hate, Sorry, I meant to say in state. Yes, the state of your mind in phases. The clocks of ages, Who linger like mages. The moon, Too glows but bold and slow. Yes, slow, For days with no faces. Who finds themselves in strange, But scary places? To state my claim, I lay waste the names they gave, Biased on my faith. Tunes unsure, Far in future of stasis. Some things lay in wait, Measured in vain but valued too fame. Distant, for that voice— For humanity but a distant tone. Truth be told, For the man who knows Is that soul in search of gold. What do we know? For man, for who is free? But chained by the song that sings, The ears that hid, The calls of choice, But a pond for life’s law came to leave. By P.Fualem