Your Memory Is A Dull Edge

The god of past and history,

yet your memory is a dull edge.

Speaking value of your companions,

however you fail to recognize them.

The identity of others is lost to you,

Strictly your grudges clinging on.

You sell yourself as a one of wisdom,

Yet all I see is a fool's fits of wrath.

You're unaware of what you adorn,

the skin of your son you so adored.

His flesh and blood belonging to his soul,

It's rotting and falling, rejecting yours.

You're here seeking not your child,

but the fulfillment of your selfish desires.