A shadow of the sun shook me as if heat
Turned on me with loss, heat tossed and turned;
The energy offered by the few who are priests
Struck us with pebbles, stones and then boulders;
My strife will never end, forming sickness,
Fighting wealth, igniting triumph with rights.
The feeding finds itself, without senses that died,
Within the common sense, strung up to the clouds.
A shadow shied from me, as I lost everything
Actually igniting perfection, and it rained forth
To subdue a minority of idiotic proportions.