While the outside world may become corrupted 

and vile, 

the purest sanctity we may ever possess 

is somewhere deep inside the remnants of our fading frames;

it is tattooed within our blacked souls 

and scrawled in an indelible ink. 

It is the very thing that gives our meager existence 

a scrap of purpose; 

it quiets our bleeding hearts 

and turns our silver-tongues to lead

behind venomous lips.

This wondrous gift 

shant ever be forgotten;

rather, 

let its encompassing truths 

take control of our empty breaths,

'til our meager forms 

beat in time to the rhythym

that has been played throughout the ages.