Why dwell on the comfort
Of dusting off the adversity
That profane the corners
Of our compartments
When we can
Call upon courage
And write for those
Without the strength to crawl out
Of the hollow caves
They live in?
You
And
I
Are blessed with the curse of
Seeing beyond the masquerades
Of others
That it becomes haunting not
To tap into their souls
And wander in the
Caves of their minds
To find the reason behind
The warped interior,
The vague, and sometimes
Vivid Answers to
Why
They're sinking in
Self imposed darkness,
They feel they're slaves
To and in liberation,
They feel they can't be forgiven
For the sins they
Unintentionally created,
They feel so empty and hollow
And dead within that there's
Nothing, but dead spaces
Between heart beats,
They're engulfed in
Flames that they're turning
Everything they caress to ash
With every bit of
Taste,
Touch,
Smell
Lulling us into euphorias
Where fragments of
Sound,
Images,
Fragrances,
Thoughts,
Compound to a jungle of words
That we lose ourselves in,
Perhaps then,
We become a tad bit closer
To finding
Ourselves,
Perhaps.
The second verse was adapted from Nat Lipstadt's 'An Intimate Courage'
And this is my cheap attempt at saying we've got purpose, maybe.