Barnaby Way

Barnaby Way

All of the saints sat in Barnaby Way,
and none would listen to what the other would say.

As they all argued over the brood,
they heckled, they jeered, they hissed, and they booed.

"Your point has no meaning!" one would say,
and the rest would corroborate, bicker, and prey.

"Well your point is just fleeting!" one would reply,
and the heat of the battle would continue try after try.

One by one they'd snipe and retort,
deciding who best to lead the cohort.

Some were too giving and some too severe,
others just hated and some cowered in fear.

Yet all denied what they knew to be true.
That all were correct, all a part of the crew.

Each had their weaknesses, their strengths, their almighty plan.
They preached the same message, they made the same stand.

They saw eye to eye, though mostly through shroud.
Their morality the same. Of their beliefs, too proud.

The fight, although endless, mattered not a bit.
Those who sat and listened wandered away from the fit.

Still some would give in and join the fight.
They couldn't resist, they had lost their sight.

And the fire, now fueled with another lost soul,
spreads further and further, adding more to the fold.