The unconditional contains no blessing.
Serving all as equals without a standard return.
Often left with empty pockets holding holes
opposites attraction, giving to the taker with nothing left to console.
Torn and tattered the paper can’t fold
The burden, the ink, layered lines of bold.
From red to blue to black, looking for the gold.
No babe, though the swine of sentiment, leaves a rusted pigment.
Warned that the world is a feeding.
Naive of opportunities fleeting.
Fleet less, following expectations.
Foreign flags raised of red turn ideals to complications.
Campaign for domination, the bait for damnation.
Stranded by temptation, embodied by a frame.
On display, the glass pane cracked,
With pain as plain as the paper before the stain.