Inquisition

Purpose must be forged
it cannot be faked assigned contrived
the many vices paths and pressures
are worthy of the mind

Dreams float in and out
lost and only maybe later found
isolation the purest crucible
swirling high above the ground

Ideas flood the empty spaces
their merit unrefined
some pass the test and carry on
most are killed by father time

Whispers invade the sanctums
their tones both sweet and dark
some are called and others culled
truths far too near the mark

Wishes are never granted
the outcomes must be earned
cede control and hope is lost
all crutches must be burned

IRC