Malice for the innocent,
what a gift to me,
innocent as I be.
What would you have me do,
for I did nothing to you,
but give you my all,
again and again,
till there was nothing left
that you could appreciate,
in your need and greed,
for something more.
There will always be,
a higher bidder,
if your soul
be perpetually for sale,
though high upon
the auction block,
where no one
will ever know it,
or hold it.
The glitter of gold
will catch some eyes,
but in the final analysis,
blind most every
enraptured captive soul,
and in the end,
what matters is
how you got there,
not where you are.
So now you stand
and hold the prize
you've won,
as tooth bites deep,
and results question motive.
