Duties of a Sentry

These are ten thousand heart beats,
Each one a life a piece and a sentry
Of pride in someone's eye.
Silence becomes these,
And in these a sly,
Shy moment sighs.
But then again
The badgering and bickering begins,
And we plunge into ten-thousand sins,
With a thousand more a piece.
And our mouths spew insufferable words,
Because our sins cannot cease.
We are the elite;
They preach at least.
But we are commoners,
And steady guardians of an
Insecure peace.

I believe

That is is all falsified.
That my conscience is the foundation of my choices,
Even if it has many voices,
Which do not tread with ease,
Over my overanalytical mind.
So you tell me one thing,
But I'll actively choose another,
Just to pull one over on you,
Get the ruse?
I knew you would.
Carry on.