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.