Days Of Seven Poem by Saul McCandless

I am the strongest and foulest of natural laws
Held adrift by the strangest of strong claws
Known by no name, but called to arms
I find solace with the dearest of charms

My time is begotten, at end a dream
Though settling a quarrel, yet it seem
Normalcy is once my spirits desire
Aim your irons to penetrate the fire.

My head in hand, by swift and naked man
A perversion of faith, to do what he can
His conscience clear, through illness alone
Find new rest and peace in my bones.

What do you seek in quiet recluse
To challenge and speak, of the noose
Pray, take your folding arms to heaven
Swift days be numbered, count them seven.