The city noise is clatter, nothing more.
Amidst used condoms, gum, and old beer cans,
primitive Christians gape and cluck, at war
behind their corn-fed certainties, that Man's
best days are yet to come. Well, what the hell,
you have to start somewhere - too many nights
hang heavily on days too dead to tell.
Soul seekers come in shades, but none own rights
to call the holy search their own. The sun
sheds light on pure and putrid selves who long
to crawl from struggle's chains, their karma done,
and wisely rise, compassionate and strong.
From mayhem, men awaken to behold
Beyond Persona, lies Perfection's gold.