Second soul trapped in the doorway

be the singing rhythms with bellicose tambourine
see through the weathered sought death of windows
at the doorkeep of my second self wanting to pass along
my second soul, never succeeding, like we used to play
burning a dozen suns with the sound of acoustic downstrokes
like the records used to improvise to us like patron substitutes

now no one gives charity for the sound of exhaustive approach
no matter how much olive oil they make from tattered soul
they can feel the stars falling in the parts of my body, and the haunt
but they rather take my limbs for free and portend lovers of ideas
forgetting my sacrifice when it comes to their own contribution
years now has half the world taken from me, so quietly, so thoroughly

I only know that my passion is exploited to never graduate to publish life
souls in poverty are preferred to stay there by the class of men and women
who are responsible for making choices that change lives, out of preference,
not out of opportunity, honestly they pick away like vultures at my anatomy
the sounds in my head given a thousand excuses not to be legitimate planted
farewells to future consciences I will no doubt reflect upon you and only you