A spirit, contemplates as an outlier to the kingdom of flesh.

Warm pressurized blood, circulates existence to the blind.

…

Can love be calculated?

Are there scales built to weigh the tarred stick of hate?

Where are the jars that hold sorrow, like rotten candy pellets?

…

A spirit, knows the bitter bite of drinking pure evil,

measures the value of light.

If the libation is enjoyed, light is a lost commodity,

and has no value.

If the burning drink, causes nausea and vomiting,

then light, framed in golden beams

has its depth of value measured and defined.

…

Copyright © 2017 Zachary W Gilbert