Internal Revenue Service: Notes from the Dead Letter Office

In the man of god I was a tree
In the palm of many I was a seed
In the hearts of few, actions speak louder than words
My vision a gift, the blood of dreams
caught between warring factions
Unable to stop time, a man was built on the frame of a boy
Squatter in my dreams, maintained on the back of a man
Running out of time, an equation so weighted
I’ll fail less I promise
Trying to figure it out
I promise, next time.