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February 7, 2015

Am I being punished? Am I cursed?
For what? Some other beings amusement? fiery head
For past wrongs I’ve paid for with my life and now must give my soul?
To what god or devil do I owe this debt?
When is my penance paid?
When will my spirit receive a reprieve?
Was this life meant for suffering and loss?
Yet is this life not considered the greatest loss of all?
What is this turmoil within, this ceaseless strife between life and death?
Why am I here, what am I doing?
Is there an answer that does not provoke more questions?
Could one really be destained (in this darkness) to serve some purpose?
But if that purpose goes un-noticed, un-recognized, un-served?
Short from greatness, and the yearnings of his spirits, never to cease,
must drive him mad!
In this prison of ones own design,
Freedom unfound must be sanity lost.
The man with paper and no pen,
The man with words and no voice,
A cacophony of silence in a world full of noise.


From → Art, BLOG, Poetry

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