Conquering the mind is the human that is unseen,
And we become victims of our thoughts.
Hearts' unable to speak,
Though their emotions burst out,
Like black paint getting thrown on white walls.
Then they call out to us "Color Blind".
Cool, challenging, optimistic thoughts,
Unable to defend the bruised eyes and the fearful fingers,
That brush gently along the rough edges of its challenge,
Success to the forgotten soul,
Rings like a loud echo following a vacant darkness.
Indeed the delight of brokenness,
Is treasured and stored in the back of the mind,
Calling out to its very best friend, “Hopelessness”.
Heart still unable to speak out loud,
Almost unable to move.
Then suction takes place.
The impurities begin to dance and mingle,
With those major veins in the heart,
And the bruised eyes,
Finally express the bed of painful roses.
Every gulp that is take,
Feels like rusty iron filled with ******
Sliding down our windpipes,
That feels like its directly to the heart.
A blizzard that we could never see our way out of,
Until it passes over.
© Robyn G Neymour