Weary Soul

We bruise and break our weary bones in search of faithful guidance supplied by mere tales; Concise, yet forever without answer. So when you find me as awake as ocean waves in the night, I will be stumbling and crashing into the barriers of my mind looking as I am now; For perhaps an attempt of poetic escape. And when my bones are found charred by the morning light, I will assume you know why; My soul is not prepared to be consumed with good will when this ink suggests substance that condemns. So if you are willing to share the spoils of a war against oneself and carry a new burden, I shall thank you with this very pen, but my only righteous path will always have been parted with Despair, and my bones will always be breaking.