The Scene

The words will not come to me,
The feelings too fast too intense,
too lively too vague
to be condensed

if all in all is all we are,
who built the initial wall?
who bears that tragic flaw?
Me for sure, if not us all

Feelings are dulled
made small by the law,
a hero's death laid to rest,
the first born's uneven breaths

If I never eat my slice of pie,
will I be sheltered from the lies?
Asking how and never why:
I don't have the rite.