Libra
Am I the cure or am I the disease:
I rest spineless on a petty pedestal
You claim to have pontifical powers:
Significant of ritualistic satire;
Am I your cure: your saving Grace
And your saving face โ but you say
No: CuZ change is pain and pain
Is death โฆ
But pain is life and life is โฆ it
I counter and claim, as truth;
Am I your disease: your pain
Down your back and the
Shaking through your veins โ but
You say no: CuZ the pain is not real,
The shakes mere flits of mind:
Like rings on a midsummer lake
Above the circle of life:
A balance to be kept;
I rest spineless on a petty pedestal
You claim have significant powers
Over life and death, cure and
Disease; I find that equilibrium
All too hard to balance,
All too hard to fault,
All too โฆ much
Satire.