If thy spirit only sings of pretty things
then who would listen to the quotes of our sins?
Or dry thy tears of hysteria?
Who will interpret the colors of the darkness?
be the voice of the villains,
Or understand the fears of intelligent bacteria?
Aware of the spread but unable to neutralize their toxins.
Are we any different from a Psychopath?
When we detach the soul from the heart
to still the pace at which we come apart?
Who said there is no greatness in division?
Since no evil is decision, do we happen upon a silver blade?
I've forced the clasp of the lock on my cage
Because,
It's never a great feeling to lose yourself.
Then again we've always used parables and metaphors to keep us afloat,
Always ready to sail
never willing to build a boat.
Destructive buoys had become our tools,
while we created the lakes, the ponds and pools
That are drained,ever so sudden by the drought of our souls
when we curse principle and forsake how to be whole.
And whole is a concept hard to grasp, For one can falter, and heal at last,
Yet isn't it easier to become one with the mask?
But the sight of the world,
Squeezes a vision of happiness
That the water never knew,
Because it had so much to give
Somewhere to be,
It's like praising the tides
While resisting the sea.
Off the top of my head I'd like to agree,
That the roots of a tree designs the its own glory,
With or without a little regret,
But as I take my first breath in a realm beyond this plain,
I hope the ivy of my days
took a lesson from ground
And patterns the wall,
In an intricate font
that only tells our story.
