Wednesday, June 15, 2011

The wrong of wrongs...

You look towards the crossroads, and I have no choice
To say that much is cared for, I now have no voice
Always dared to commit the wrong of wrongs
All world thinks I deserve the world; I’m insane
But who can lift the seasons of a fool who knows
When the soul is in division of itself, night and day
Why do all the turbulent seas bring me to the same shores
Tired of all the reckless and the mindful chores
And finding it difficult to swallow me entirely,
Damned is the land and shameful is even the ravenous sea
I never clamber to the loftiness of a dreamless sleep
As within each of mine, there are deeply ground fences
All prospects are mere bodies, lurking shadows deep
And in another reality, lies the pain of your absent presence
Any worldly thing as I extend a mental embrace,
Within all that’s distinguished, I always see your beautiful face
We’d spend the same times, we’d wind the same clocks
In another territory, save for your abysmal ignorance
The flowering, embroidered, and torn yet refined delusion
Why is it only the dead can be forgiven, and commit to memory
Do you undergo the exquisiteness of this chosen misery
A proud, haughty and not so well deserved mind; a fool
Is the pertinent sanctity really been given to what’s unseen, unfelt – yet,
How habitually is it felt, we’re doing what we should
in a world built only from metal and wood,
While some other domain lies somewhere, thus far obscure,
and hiding, waiting, watching from within a hood

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