Hearing mostly sounds of lust
Bathing all your thoughts in thrust,
Thus thyself will be the one
Dividing dust from mist of time.
In the end of the beginning
Life still melting in its bleeding,
Shaped by colors of the night
You seek hope in morning’s light.
Candle’s light now is so odd,
Too bright for it is not,
Pale, boring shout in night;
It is so different, now the light.
Hearing sounds that push in you
The driven force of do and show,
Whispered words that are so near
Fainted sounds you cannot hear.
And there you find yourself again
The same spot, nothing to gain,
The one to listen is yet unheard
But often seen as one to hurt.
In front of light, you spread the dark
Shallow thoughts that only bark,
And ask yourself: Why can’t they see?
The true source you ought to be.
Now you fall down on your knees
And ask for soap to clean thy deeds,
Should the answer cross your mind
You ignore it still, and hope to find.
Finding out, you still have needs
Staring down you ask for seeds,
That hopefully would grow to be
A better breed for you to see.
All these seeds, so lame in purpose
Desert sheltered by a tree,
Crops of waste that only yield
The purgatory’s empty shield.
Overwhelmed by signs and measures
Picturing the wants as treasures,
You find yourself empty inside
Who am I to fill these lies?