Blind in the dark, running forward with conviction
Certain of prediction to become truth,
My sight is limited - stinted - narrowed - tunneled. Words spell out fear.
Alone in the dark, running out of time,
Divine hope comes crashing and crumpling to a halt.
My mind tells me it's just fell deeds of fallacy,
But repetition turns into tendency.
Tendency to history.
History to human nature.