THE OPEN MIC CYPHER

[UnbornBuddha]

Open mics expose the contents within this soul of mine
A light repelling the hold of fright when its groping tight.
Growing wise has nothing to do with moral vice.
After all, all of our favorite role models die living lowly lives.
Beliefs shape how you focus your eyes to the world outside.
If your presence is cold as ice you shun others' invites
A road to finding yourself isolated forever inside...
Your home being your only life.
Destiny and free will is akin to throwing formless dice.
Luck is a construct for the opiate blind,
Malaise fiends whose kind gestures are a folly guise.
If you ignore them, then they might show you crime.
Mugged by them all you can hear is the hopeless chimes.
The church bell tower gloats a Christ whose blood is soaked in wine.
In spite of all this I preserve my dying cells in solutions soaked in brine.