Mystery Of The Pen Poem by EZEKIEL MAU

Can I Still your attention,
That I might bring to air the unvery mentioned?
That which has deluded us all
That which has covered our soul's window with oceans of red milk
And my people know it not!
It is that bleeds on mechanised
trees
Briefer than a metal snout
Yet can bring on the balance
weight than a thousand furlong
And my people know it not! !
Because it's clothed with sanity
And it's dwelling is with they
that are purpled with vanity
And my people know it not!
Having none to Blame
We seize the riffle's breathe
at its neck
We Call him a thief
but cannot find it's debt
The pain is left in our loins
to carry
Would it be fair to desire the
purple?
Or for goodness sake remain
nobles?