Oh thee lord of mine,
What have you made of me,
A mere puppet of time,
Dancing to it’s malevolent tune,
An unruly malignant malice,
What’s this skin I wear,
Callous & deceptive,
A heart to perceive,
And eyes to see,
But what good are they,
If they never render peace,
Angels of commotion,
Is what they are,
Enraging the void of discontent,
Rupturing and shattering,
Orchestrating a wrecking havoc,
The fractious sense of emotions,
Rises from thin air,
Instilling the obnoxious humanity,
Coercing to care,
But caring has it’s own rewards,
Packed in alluring ribbons,
Underneath the bubble wrap,
There lays the enthralling trap,
Leaving you in pain & scarred,
Forcing to scream in silence,
In that fleeting moment,
You realise it is immature,
You can only run,
And never outrun,
But we are what we are,
For a ray of hope,
Keeping doors ajar.