Out Of Order

Accuse me of this, trusting what did I gest?

To think or confess, silence seems to be best

Speaking of words, accepting it would be worse

And solace comes first, it forfeits here in retrieving

Every last reason for wanting of evidence

With all things beside us that line up as residence

Everything left be a waste of time

Perfect as this, to only realize a guess

Conflicts can rest, what takes precedence next?

Keeping with words, how can I be assured?

Solace comes first, it forfeits here in retrieving

Every last reason for wanting of evidence

With all things beside us that line up as residence

Everything left be a waste of time