Sacrificed Altars

The communion and wine  
Is known by all who partake in it's ritual  
To be made of, flesh and blood  


It bleeds, not for the joy of sacrifice 
Or wanting death, less not in value for life 
Like one may think of self harm  


But to feel alive and to hold on to living  
So love and life is tested, 
For what course one engages in  


And the goal post are set, to suit 
Established in sizes and forms 
Made to measure on faith of believers 


It is only for the training grounds 
That opposition is made absent
Bubble wrapped, tip toe on offence  


For the prince who plays 
Sword fights in his backyard
W' his servants, a' claims to know battle 


Scars are formed like harvest 
After cuts and bruises, bleed 
I carry a few on my shoulders 


Most beneath skin tissue, the deepest, the widest  
It is self harm on courses chosen 
What do you bleed for