Why does it search for meaning?
Can it not be, and just be.
For good parts of my conscience
Are now a part of it.
Why does it reek of gluttony?
That, and a thirst for jealousy.
Neither mine nor your conscience
Know of its objectives.
Why does it plead for cleansing?
A purity that is unattainable by the knowing.
The vast expanse of my conscience
Denies the approval of its existence.
Why does it destroy that of its kind?
Praising the Devil’s attire.
Level the grounds of its conscience
And commence drama; havoc.