The Beast of Selfishisness

If there could be but only one thing I may critique, my dear Lord, Oh why a ruby's precious Only as its fragile Only because, Oh how a word So desperate to be heard Why dear god, For plenty lose merit? Because, From behind, My left, A whisper for my ear Because, Because, The swine are being stoked Sharp white iron The air is breathing heavy Hot ribbons flying off My vision is getting blurry As the wrought passes closes I pray it is not for me