Not All Dogs Bite

Through frames whose rigid ways are absolute,
Life's truths seem sure. For minds that are asleep,
the tour ends here. Because the human root
runs deep, and cliffs that soar toward Grace are steep,
new ways to see must rise. Mundane's perverse!!
Until one knows this fact, the rarer zones
are out. One's filthy inner home is worse
than any other place. A stalwart set of stones
all souls must grow, to ultimately know
their shadow walks a pathway of its own.
The subtle shades of things half-seen below
our rock-iron brains, hold laws that must be known
once mind's made right. Pretending there's no mess,
pre-dooms the heart to know insane distress.