Lines

For people who I see thrice in a year
For Gods that people have not seen even once
For causes I do not identify with
I have sacrificed myself
At the altar of society

The lamb and the butcher, both me
Khe knife I fashoined out of my will
The public audience called in by me
By my acceptance of their values, their yard stick

But it was easy for me to die
Their eyes never meant anythign to me
my Life had already been taken away

My wife and I could not wed, said they
Because lines crossed a certain way
In the parchment as old as us
The parchments were born a little later than us
Yet becasue they did not match
Their elders could not marry

So much for tradition
The parchment won

Now the two parchments lay waste
To live untouched, unmarried
And throbbing with life
Far longer than the people
Whose fates they ended