Idyllicness is skin deep like our world.

Our world is lurid.

Everyday we are mercenaries.

We seek nirvana, fearing the oblivion.

Thinking we are precocious,

the red herring lures us away from peace.

He was an ostracized person of higher spiritual class.

The higher class hears all,

for even our tirades of unfairness are heard.

The ostarcized finds this amusing.

His devilish acrimony gives us hints to who is really in charge.

Making peevish remarks toward the high spirits, hoping to get revenge.

For even though the higher spirirtual class hears all,

the forgive, but never forget.

For when you march west,

you'll hear the accolade of the spirits

and the cacophony of the ostracized.

For I am a mere child,

Finding this accusation true.

I haven't lived long enough to hear the whole story,

for my poem is an epitome of life.