Sunday, November 1, 2009

Confession


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.




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