Destined

Imagine the face of a man covered in dust,
This man knows no fear, this man knows no rust,
Lifted by earth, yet earth is but a tainted crust,
Deviant determination, a demon driven by must.

His eyes speak of power, and his eyes speak in thrust,
This man knows no betrayal, this man knows no trust,
A principle of fault, chosen by the destinies of gust,
The winds shall befall you, and his eyes seem to do just.

So what is it that makes us choose our destined path?
An equation in which value is but a differently colored wrath?
An axis of inevitable truth, or an axis of a purified blood bath?
What is the equilibrium? Where is the neutral ground to this math?

For every action, there is an equal and opposite reaction.
Is this face the negator and silencer to this violent diffraction?
Is it what happens when you look away towards that one distraction?
It is a kind face... one that seems to feed off of our satisfaction.

It is mindless... to try and understand fate,
Instead we choose to ignore, we choose to create,
We choose to forget, we choose never to relate,
We look down, then we claim to walk straight.

Will you follow in my steps? Fellow being?
Will you run away with me? Never stop fleeing?
Will you look towards me? Pretend that you are seeing?
Will you lie with me? Count the minds we are freeing?