A consciousness palled,
A pair of withered feet plod on…
Driven by the heavy but bloated heart adrift—
Am I meant for so…?
The grandiose approach,
The mishandled pain ensued.
Destined but still through a scrimmage—
A dawn of hope stretched afar the horizon blurring.
A dogged silly heart it’s,
Still moving amid double more pains—
Numbed or crazed…a clear vision lost.
Then how there can be such as…
Oh, I see, mine is a lagging sort,
I yet carry on—a caring sense lost,
But only with this blind emotion,
So vague—I cry for a mercy!
Yes, yes, I confess the core point:
Fated and qualified it isn’t;
The strong sense unblended, redundant—
So pathetic I find it myself but cuffed unmovable.
A shower of mercy I seek not now;
Let it take what it deserves by!
A veil of haze falls to lock it further into captivity;
I should learn to like claustrophobia.
