The wondrous mystery clings to the wall,
Vines curling in the dimensions of darkness and dawn,
Reasons behind songs of love,
Words from the letters veiled,
The unknown story, the hidden truth,
Intriguing the conscience, burning the desires of heart.
Calling me to dance to the rhythms of silence,
To repeat the ballads not heard,
To follow the sound of green and brown,
Into the dark valley of musings.
Intriguing the conscience, flaming the desires of heart
Intriguing the conscience, burning the desires inside the heart.
the reason behind the lie and the sorrow behind the words,
the warmth behind the blush and the summoning call„
the curls in the vines and the dark shadows,
the secrets and the treasure,
hell and fire,
or heaven and love,
the magic and the lullabies of night,
The righteous and the right.
Caught in the prongs of Thy,
Intrigued by the essence,
caring not to hide.
Inside my body feels like chaos.
There seems to be no sense to what is happening.
I am aware on a conscious level that something is going on inside my mind and soul,
but I cannot access it.
It's as if the things that torment me are lurking in the dark,
purposefully causing me pain,
luring me into the darkness,
tempting me with the idea that discovery is possible,
all the while knowing that they will not reveal themselves to me.
Rather they slowly seduce me into their realm of darkness
and begin to trick my mind that the darkness is the only truth that exists.
Darkness is a strange thing really.
On the surface it doesn’t seem very appealing.
It is something that holds fear and danger
and torments many people when presented in an external explicit way.
When presented in an internal way,
this fear and danger does not,
seem to send off the same kind of alarm bells that one would normally hear.
It would, in fact, appear as if the mind is somewhat
by the shadows within itself
that drift around like smoke in a breeze.
It is as if this intrigue
is enough to safeguard against the potentially sinister depths of a tormented soul.
I am not immune from this
as I too find myself perpetually drawn into the dark crevices of my mind.
I can only hope
that my fragile heart
remembers that it was not always shattered by darkness
– but rather
that it is held together by the Light that exists at the core of my divinely given being.
The sly smoke lingering upon the room
The door open, enclosing the broom
Calmly I sat, on my wooden chair
Reading the newspaper, under the sun's glare
Yet the phone soundly rang
A catchy tune it's speakers sang
In my mind, who could it be?
In the end of the line, a stranger greets me.
And such reveals the mists of mystery
He demands me to stay awake
This uncalled feeling of stressful misery
Is far worst than I could take