TORN IN BETWEEN.



When you left I made a sculpture,
As if stone might keep your mystery.
As I stand upon the brink of my thoughts.
A void below...
I want to follow you.

I vision the place I would die to be beautiful,
Cryptic and cold.
A war-zone of terror and death,
Where to live one must always fight.
The warm kindness, fierced and of expression
Pinned against the marble face demanding of my attention.
All these thoughts, I ask.
Which should my efforts consume?
And for which should my efforts dry?
Shall I fly or shall I fall?
May I go where no road yet exists?
Shall I look where no one looks?
Shall I ask or shall I seek?
Shall I run or shall I stand?

It is the breaking of two hearts that I most fear.
Sometimes It seems this world was made for someone else.
And it's not me...
I'm in a dungeon so dark.
I want to scream, climb out even.
A heavenly and providence soul I posses.
Ambushes the truth and echo's the deathly force tearing through.
But then hoe ignites my broken self,
Consumes the night and grants a ray.
It caresses trickle hot flow of the stirred peaceful yet confused strand cut open by constant friction of cradled bunch of illusions.
I want to hold on and at the same time give up.
Then a rhythm inside me is born.
It plays, calm and serene,
A magical theme settles and stills the rage within.
 
 
 

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