Cap-Ture

Traditionally a concept not worth viewing
His mind not of the seventh tradition
Basically a leader among the minute and poor
Leaving his mark staying behind for more
Painting a picture of red and blues
Blood and makeup thrown across canvas
Telling the story no one wants to hear
Making a blame of your own self and being

The ridicule is too much for a man
So the flight of many birds is a storm
A tornado that sweeps through and devastates
A thunder cloud that burns its mighty crown
The rain forward showers blankets of sheets
Rice and ice, a pool of flooding fur and shame
It is not for one to cry out nothing
But for all to keep quietly to themselves

So a disaster, holding in my arms
Like a bowl of envy and worry and hate
Dropped into a pit of the human souls
A box of evils that you can release and
Only one can tame and control, but not keep
Such a light to stop the dark, it is there
But you hide from it, dwelling in pity
You rule out all need for sanctity and measure

So back up, the shore is creeping towards you
Grasping at your feet and ankles craning its neck
It has to eat, you have to feed
It has to swallow you whole before it grows
If you want to be free, the chains are broken
The clouds will cry, the wind will be hesitant
The shouting won't end, but you will die
All death will take up
And then eternal life...