New World

A thing is a grave when it has not made bearers of humble knowledge
When each is asked if he features guilt in his blood
He is fast to crouch behind his wall
Glowering to all those present here

A room bearing no restrictions bears a fact born with emotion
And something previously thought begins to become not so true
Resulting in the growth of conscience seeking out the fragments
On behalf that all is awareness of kin

When all feeling begins an avalanche of barren hope
Indeed-
This society's breathing
Hatched by nonsense
Creates no equals

The evildoers are cast down
Towards this crowded utopia in the process of tossing coins
A handful then one more
Heads battling Tails
Jury upon Jury
And Mediation...
In apparent decision


An ending not called for integrity brings the being towards nothing
A striking detail of foreign objectives
This must be a telling change
A cause hardly unavailable