The Lost Art

I read you Fathers
in the mute of night
When the bones decay in the yard of grave.
I read you Fathers
in the shadow deep
of the blooming moon
a most solemn tune.
What seek I?
Gong You did strike!
The ancient rhyme
I seek rhythm to this discordant medley churning my inside.
I am your offspring
show me the path of destiny
Many have forsaken it
and the less-severe roads have taken
for it is a time of blasphemy.
What seek I? That cord of life to balance the rife in remedy.
I pained for the dead days,    for the lost ways
So I read you to bring back The Road Map.