The Self

One whispering to the cold air thoughts astride too; a lonely mind all blessings fine, all curses fair. an endless cause, from Adam's days in flight by day, air-borne by night, and man cannot stop the play. unheard, misread, misunderstood, thus actions true and careless yet, come from the wise, or of the fools. a bucket full of nothing quite, the likeness to an empty soul; unclear, not chromed and yet not white. unjustified in classes; all not prime, not poor, nor mediocre n'er bloody sad nor over joyed. so plenty here, too plenty dear, these things to say in little lines, since words are lacked, and men are feared, these things unsaid fizz in my mind. - RHYME BATTLE; ROUND 4 -