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.