"unmindful" poems
Unmindful of the roses,
Unmindful of the thorn,
A reaper tired reposes
Among his gathered corn:
So might I, till the morn!
Cold as the cold Decembers,
Past as the days that set,
While only one remembers
And all the rest forget,--
But one remembers yet.
17.3k
The greatest demonstration of freedom in the history of the nation.
Five score years ago, a great American, in whose symbolic shadow we stand today, signed the Emancipation Proclamation.
A great beacon light of hope.
Seared in the flames of withering justice.
One hundred years later, the ***** still is not free.
We’ve come to our nation’s capital to cash a check.
This note was the promise that all men, yes, black men as well as white, men, would be guaranteed the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness.
It is obvious today that America has defaulted on this promissory note insofar as her citizens of color are concerned.
Now is the time to make real promises of democracy.
Now is the time to make injustice a reality for all of God’s children.
There will be neither rest nor tranquility in America until the ***** is granted his citizen rights.
In the process of gaining our rightful place, we must not be guilty of wrongful deeds.
I am not unmindful that some of you have come here out of great trials and tribulations.
You have been veterans of creative suffering.
Go back, knowing that somehow this situation can and will be changed.
I say to you today, even though we face the difficulties of today and tomorrow, I still have a dream.
A deeply rooted american dream.
A dream that one day this nation will rise up and live out the true meaning of “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal.”
I have a dream where little children will one day live in a nation where they will not be judged by the color of their skin, but by the context of their character.
I have a dream today!
That little black boys and girls, will be able to join hands with little white boys and girls as brothers and sisters.
I have a dream today!
The rough places will be plain and the crooked places will be made straight, “and the glory of the Lord shall be revealed, and all flesh shall see it together."
This is our hope.
This is the faith I go back with.
With this faith we will be able to transform the jangling discords of our nation into a beautiful symphony of brotherhood.
When we allow freedom to ring, when we let it ring from every village and every hamlet, from every state and every city, we will be able to speed up that day when all of God’s children --- black men and white men, Jews and Gentiles, Protestants and Catholics --- will be able to join hands and sing in the words of the old ***** spiritual, “Free at last. Free at last. Thank God Almighty, we are free at last.”
Oct 26, 2017
Oct 26, 2017 at 8:26 AM UTC
Wild rose, aggressive usurper,
relentless conqueror of attention, quarrels
wants to make me jelous,
pretends she is nothing but poetry distilled,
stops at every table and whispers:
"He is hard prose, the syntax, I can't grasp"
Unmindful of sly looks from various corners,
that in fact suggest, I had good riddance,
I am concerned about the clutter on my desk,
that escaped my notice during the days I was in that chasm
I was deeply in to Dostoevsky,
my cleansing ritual on such occasions: the Russian masters
when she passed my cubicle she spies Chekhov
lying on my table, waiting his turn
"The lady with the lapdog"* she reads aloud, with suspicion
would she ever understand, what Dostoevsky to me,
would have told?
Aug 16, 2013
Aug 16, 2013 at 12:06 PM UTC
*Inebriated blue cloud,
I know you well enough
libertine ways you have
make you a lover of
deep thunder and meek rainbow
and also a chit of a lark
that loses itself in a song
be it is in grief or mirth.
Strange is the ways of my heart,
how much I long to fall in love with you
and proclaim this to the world scheming
to disrupt the pleasures one seeks
without any reason at all
"Look! love has no limits, no reason even
the lovely cloud, softness personified
caresses my foliage with sensuous abandon
kisses me with her wispy lips of moisture"
I know you understand, though unmindful of
my unbridled passion
making breaches in the limits,
I have no illusion about our improbable union.
True, how can we live
happily ever after?
I envy your gift of wings
though you have none visible,
you borrow it from the wayward wind,
too willing to carry your sweet load around.
I stood on the hill top,
wistfully thinking
that you will come and
take me within your soft folds
though I am a tree with deep running roots
that has become a restraining thing.
Freedom without any limit
gets you inebriated every minute,
your love for love, makes you desirable
you live in the present, suspend thoughts on time to come
as it is hypothetical, you say.
You are in a hurry to roam
wherever lovers lead you one after the other
do you have an urge to dissolve and pour-
as water, without any remorse?
Do you know my penitence for your love
on this hilltop is a true sacrifice?
My love for you doesn't bring anything
except my wilting hour after hour.
Let me be on your blue breast for moments
when my boiling love will seek
your shining center that melts, melts
we'd freeze as one, how long my darling?
Time would simply stand still
to a distance, i'd be transported,
where tree or cloud means nothing
we are an incessant rain lasting for ever.*
Feb 13, 2014
Feb 13, 2014 at 10:13 AM UTC
We glide through life on hollow wings, while making art with earthly things,
when halting beauty stops us all around.
Unmindful of the world we share and gifts that we are given here,
content to fool ourselves with pleasures found.
We search in vain like fools to find, a beauty of a special kind,
a noise that forces all the world to see,
how wonderful our talents are to spread our names and voices far
and let us live into eternity.
How foolishly to think that we can along with czars and magic men
to light a fire that burns eternally.
When most our hopes and dreams can bear is lifelong bliss in moments shared,
while hand in hand, I run away with you.
Aug 20, 2012
Aug 20, 2012 at 8:49 PM UTC
Sailboat on a purple sea
Yellow skies are all she sees
Lonely Captain at the helm
Lord o’er all her ocean realm.
Sailboat on a purple sea
Sailing through Eternity
The yellow skies reveal her ardor
Searching for inlet or harbor.
Where she can safely drop her anchor
Without hostility or rancor
Stay forever, or a day
If on a whim she sails away.
To search again for other shores
Unmindful of the ocean’s mores.
Sometimes storms impede her course
Fill her journey with remorse
Thunder sounds a deaf’ning roar
Through driving rain, can’t see the shore
Lightning bolts around her flash
As if to call the Captain brash
For thinking that she has control
Over purple ocean’s vitriol.
If ever she regrets her plight
When yellow skies turn dark at night
And midnight storms have lead to loss
She rights the ship and bears the cross
And waits for morning dawn to break
Sun through last night’s rain will make
A rainbow reaching far away
Certainly it will show the way
To steer her sailboat that day.
Sailboat on a purple sea
Yellow skies are all she sees
Buoyant Captain at the helm
Lord o’er all her ocean realm.
PwL 04/21/15
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 10:56 PM UTC
One night as dark as my hair
Shines the moonlight clear
One night I got a nightmare
And woke up full of fear
One dream every time I remember
Gave me river of tear
This dream I wrote in a paper
Recalls the girl I dear
I was awaken in a pond
Standing in a lily pad
I was as green as lively grass
Gets fluffy as I breathe so hard
Definitely I am a frog
A frog disliked by everyone
I am a frog treated like mud
Because nobody wants a frog
And as a frog I also have
No care of what is all around
Unmindful of so many harsh
All I know is insect sound
But then once upon a time
Two birds I saw flew apart
And she calmly swum inside
Then the frog and swan collide
But as a frog I still care none
Even the presence of a swan
Standing still in lily pad
Still think I am just a mud
Suddenly I don't know why
I notice tears in her eyes
I am a frog that doesn't care
But swear I can't resist to stare
My body moves on its own
I hop from lily pads to stones
I play dumb and acts with craze
To see a curve in her face
Then the swan smiles so light
And look far on the other side
I notice how she watches his flight
And then another tear subside
I miss a smile from a bird
That bears a broken-heart
Her circumstance was so absurd
Like a very solemn art
In her back I took a ride
We act like groom and bride
We play even under the sun
Comfortably have so much fun
As frog I only croak
But I still sing a song
I croak I croak I croak
That makes her laugh along
But then the sky roared
As well as rain poured
I stop to sing
She spread her wings
Without a word she flee
The swan left me
A tear in my eye roll
Imitating the rainfall
I looked at the bird afar
That bears a broken-heart
I was like gazing at a star
With a shape of a heart
I’m just a frog in a pond
A tiny frog who knows no fun
But for some reason I sob
The reason might be love
Then I opened my eyes
I felt cold like ice
A tear roll in my cheek
I felt so numb to rise
Before I wrote this on a paper
I hunt for the finest pen
Like how the frog wander
To seek the swan again
Jun 5, 2014
Jun 5, 2014 at 1:43 AM UTC
Mother Teresa - love immortal
In frail human frame;
Angel of peace and compassion,
Knew no bounds of caste or creed:
With arms outstretched,
Waded through slums forsaken
To help the poor in their humble homes:
Orphans discarded, dying destitutes,
Deserted cripples and lepers deformed,
Found in her a ministering angel
Whose gentle touch revived hope;
Brought solace and joy.
Unmindful of praise or blame,
To serve the poor was her only aim,
And never did she crave for wealth or fame.
Like St.Francis of Assisi, she prayed -
" Lord, make me an instrument of Thy peace,
" Where there is hatred, let me sow love,
" Where there is injury, pardon,
" Where there is doubt, faith,
" Where there is despair, hope......."
Life inspiring, a splendid saga
Of selfless service and sacrifice.
For ever she lives in the loving hearts
Of those who strive to rid the world
Of sorrow, misery and distress.
****** M.G.Narasimha Murthy
Hyderabad, India. mgnmurthy4@gmail
Oct 30, 2015
Oct 30, 2015 at 11:56 AM UTC
On the black canvas
Carve the thunders
Streaks of neon glow,
The drums the heaven beats
On their way to the earth
Rend the air apart,
The ground in ******** anticipation
Vibrates in a rediscovered titillation,
The soil waits holding its breath
In the last climactic lull
Before it’s released from the pain,
Unmindful, I open my umbrella
In the season’s first rain!
Jun 10, 2013
Jun 10, 2013 at 3:09 AM UTC
By the pond, where the egret sleeps,
where the hawk flies overhead,
and the weeping willow weeps,
I will find my lullaby, to lull me to sleep.
By the pond, where the ducklings go,
back and forth, to and fro,
following mother, grey fuzz, all in a row,
I will walk unhurried, slow.
By the pond, on the grassy banks,
I will hum a tune under a cloudless sky.
Pass by the blue heron, and silently give thanks,
and while away the hours, and watch the seabirds fly.
By the pond, where the white swans glide,
I will shade my eyes from the sun’s bright rays,
as otters frolic, swim and hide,
unmindful of time in these last days.
Dec 30, 2016
Dec 30, 2016 at 5:27 PM UTC
Curtains, blown by an evening's gale,
Applaud movements of the Coryphee,
That sentry for everything frail
And the things of beauty put away.
She dances to melodic chimes,
Which haunt the summer evening's air,
She leaps, turns, points, and spins in time,
Unmindful of her sentinel care.
She ignores forgotten keys, rings,
Bracelets, pins, a small glass hummingbird,
As well a wads of necklace strings,
She keeps on dancing, without a word.
Still ballerina dances,
Doing pirouettes to some refrain,
Ignoring her audiences,
Never seeking any other gain.
Yet, with time, every life must fade.
When this life, by key, has come to end,
She answers her death unafraid.
The chest is closed by a gust of wind.
Feb 17, 2013
Feb 17, 2013 at 11:12 AM UTC
I sit
all by myself
again
and look out
down upon the streets
cigarette in hand
a glass of wine upon the table
love's sweet exhaustion lingering in my bones
and smell upon my skin
feeling so young and yet somehow so old
A late night bus drones by
and takes strange people
to their desired stops
in a city
where I know only few
that could say
yes
it's him
a woman with unsteady midnight gait
secretly walks her dog
into the public park
both little more than blurs
of bluish white and brown
in the half-shadow
of forbidden bushes
a couple leans entwined
forever in a parting kiss
upon the doorstep
unmindful of the plane
that comes in low and loud
before the landing
why is it that these moments
seem eternal and yet
I sense the rush of time go fast
and pass me by
and her
who sleeps next door
and leave us lost among our memories
of what was lovely
and so beautiful
before
* * *
May 14, 2015
May 14, 2015 at 10:08 AM UTC
I use ‘oh, my god’ as an expression
not of faith, but surprise,
of wonder at beauty untouched
by ideology or dogma
as if caught, and pulled, from a dream.
I exclaim ‘oh, my god’ when stunned
not by holy ghosts, but the living,
who do kindness as though it were nothing
unmindful of securing safe passage
into heaven, or paradise.
‘Oh, my god’, I cry, when words fall idle
or are muted to quiet reverence.
Where twisted skeins of empiric memory,
rush in crashing surf
of reminiscence and nostalgia.
I am godless, but not without reason
‘oh, my god’ being a slip of historical,
idiomatic vernacular.
Even as curiosity drives me to understand
your own ritualistic, devotional motivations.
Raise the cup, my friend
it gives us both what we need.
For you, transubstantiation
for me a divine and luscious tableaux.
For Saint Teresa in her ecstasy no doubt exclaimed
‘Oh, my god’!
Jan 26, 2015
Jan 26, 2015 at 10:50 AM UTC
Ready your ears,
remove your fears
let your mind hear
the hurtful truths
rather than the comforting lie
mostly heard,
by the youth.
Our mind is polluted
by the false informations
we believed in.
As we turned away from the reality,
where honesty lives in.
We lie in the bed of lies,
where we sleep on the dreams
where sincerity "seems" real.
Society intents a deep-state lies
where unmindful people
accepts what is seen and heard
on the screen.
Aug 7, 2018
Aug 7, 2018 at 9:40 AM UTC
Like a warm breath of air
He hovers in my memory
No superman, a meek soul
Not one to squander his time
But one who worked day in and out
To feed those
Whom he loved and sired
What was he?
A teacher, a farmer or an artist
I cannot say precisely...
All I can say;
He was each of these
Rolled into one
On holidays I saw him
Shut in the loft
a brush in hand
His fingers moving over the canvas
The steaming tea by his side
Untouched and getting cold as ice
Unmindful of everything around
He sat by the easel in the attic
Focussed only on the strokes that fell
When a distinct image shoots out
As the moon from behind clouds
A wave of satisfaction would gleam
Across his face,
His frantic nerves at once hushed
Bearing the look of one
Who, in an instant, conquered kingdoms
He would view it from different angles
Never seeking anyone’s opinion
But gloating if he saw
Our admiring eyes fell on it
Being artistically inclined
He lived more in the world of art
But gradually things changed
To his fright, he found his hands shaky
And the lines on the canvas
Going tremulous and disjointed
Couldn’t hold a brush!
On diagnosed of Parkinson’s disease
His world abruptly lost its sheen
He saw the disease weeding
Its way into his life
Suddenly grown old
He lost interest in everything
We saw him sitting in his armchair
So immobile, for hours on end
His eyes stretched to a far horizon
We displayed before him
Paintings once born of his imagination
To see if his world would brighten
And it worked!
Recently, in one of my dreams
I saw him sitting at the foot of Michael Angelo
To learn the art, he couldn’t perfect
In his life time!
Jan 22, 2018
Jan 22, 2018 at 8:44 AM UTC
It had rained all night
And drenched the land outright
Leaving puddles and pools,
Here, there and everywhere.
But the morning saw
The sun blazing ever more bright
I watched the water
Flowing silently away
With no ostentation
Along channels, furrows and waterways
Cavities, crevices and culverts
And through ditches and drains
What little remained,
Seeped down unnoticed
Through innumerable pores unseen.
As prisoners from narrow cells
Suddenly released into boundless space
Or troops from a garrison
On a spurt of fresh attack
The children shut indoors
Came out in gangs
To romp, jump and play.
Unmindful of anything,
They soon lost in a wave of giggles.
But how sudden was the change!
The sky over cast with dark clouds
Fired out like a water cannon.
Once more the rain,
Cascaded down with greater vengeance
Each drop weighing gallons
And the silver needles pricking deep
Making the children flee
In directions all round
Like autumn leaves
Scattered by the wind!
The rain continued to pour
Inundating the low lying lands
Oh! Mother Nature
How erratic are your moods
How unpredictable
How like a child throwing tantrums
And how quickly appeased!
Jul 18, 2016
Jul 18, 2016 at 5:36 AM UTC
So far the story goes
Miss Place keeps everyone on their toes.
For her finding things is not an easy thing
Most of her possessions invariably go missing
Nowhere to be found are objects of her use
And the ones she blames find some excuse
That she is unmindful and blatantly unfair
Her missing comb is there only in her hair
To her desperate hunt for an important file
She's told she's sitting on it all the while
When she lost an earring and was sulking morose
It so happened they said she wore it on her nose
She wonders why her family should at all blame her
If her car keys are found in the dickey of her car
and why on earth should the blame be all hers
when her money is in a book and not in her purse.
Miss Place thinks she knows the reason for such mess
others' gross negligence in putting things in place.
Oct 4, 2016
Oct 4, 2016 at 10:52 AM UTC
I stand on the shore, my feet sinking in the sands,
My hair tousled wild in winds hustling hands,
Covering my face, veiling my eyes,
Distantly, I hear the seagulls, their yearning cries.
I grip firmer and hold myself tight,
In dusk's diminishing, dwindling twilight.
I watch the waves lunge at me -
Overwhelming, menacingly.
But as they race to the shore, reaching my feet
They drench me, turn back and then recede.
I see another wave, I yearn to move a step behind.
Fear and uncertainty fill my troubled mind.
But I still stand, stand my ground,
Unmindful of the sounds,
Of the winds and the waves,
In a trance, lost, nature's slave.
I nearly fall, my balance lost,
Taken by surprise, by waves tossed.
But I still stand, stand with unsteady feet,
Where the land and waters meet.
I, on the seashore, a speck, besides a sea so vast -
I know that each wave will rest and it too shall pass.
Jun 18, 2017
Jun 18, 2017 at 12:38 PM UTC
In the window of the pet shop
four small faces, lost.
Their owners, sick with worry,
want them found at any cost.
A quad of treasured family pets
roaming wild and free,
unmindful of the panic
they’re causing back in Leigh.
A sausage dog called Mini,
sleek and burnished dark.
She’s likely got a little voice
that is more squeak than bark.
Tinks: a sturdy Staffie,
with a plea on Facebook
praying for his safe return
his people beg you “have a look”
“in your sheds and garages,
or in the kids' playhouse.
You never know who could be there
‘cos he’s quiet as a mouse”.
A grumpy Border Terrier,
Underbitten, rough of coat
“Bill: a much loved dog, we miss him”
in shaky letters wrote.
And, last of all, would you believe
Someone’s lost their tortoise!
He’s been in the family since ‘77
(let’s hope he isn’t corpus).
For pets are no mere mortals,
nor fallible as we.
They’re up there on a pedestal,
in anthropomorphic fantasy.
Then one day they disappear,
our soppy hearts turn wretched.
No stick to throw, and if we did
none to go and fetch it.
On centre stage of family life
entangled in our tribe.
No separateness of species,
always by our side.
So if you’re there, or round about
And you should chance to see
Mini, Tinks or Billy
or a tortoise in his mid-thirties.
Tell the little pet shop -
it’s better late than never -
to mend an aching, wretched heart
who thought their best friend gone forever.
Jul 26, 2013
Jul 26, 2013 at 7:09 PM UTC
*His eyes rivet on the extravagant evening sun,
in frenzied creation, profusely mixing colors,
applying on the canvas of the horizon,
painting her, his lover with astonishing precision,
--portrait of a girl in love
unmindful of what the world thinks about her
and in total dedication to her man.
Love makes larger than life heroes out of weak mortals,
and creates echoes on the far horizons that keep on reverberating!
She sits quietly holding his hands as if it is all she needs
never thinking, it is obvious, whether this is a fallacy or ultimate truth,
that holds good for all the changing seasons.
With her long chiseled fingers she draws
something beautiful, a motif that emerged in her mind,
in front of them, the seascape, was a lively cyclorama
framed by bright ultramarine.
Like eels just out of water, their bodies gleaming,
bikini clad glam girls, beach soldiers spearheading
an undeclared beauty attack,
on the look out for hidden challenges
while walking past the love pair,
each one stands awhile, scrutinizing her thoroughly
measuring with a scale, hidden in those eyes,
as if she was a **** on parade, even women couldn't help covet.
Though inappropriately dressed, for the beachfront appearance,
she invites more attention, she is amused.
But after a tumultuous love, and eventful elopement
she is in bliss, in her love-land with her prince
she is just ecstatic, no thought could make her shake off her composure.*
Feb 8, 2014
Feb 8, 2014 at 2:15 AM UTC
In the back of my stair storage
I have a bin
within my old sins lie
Otherwise I'll forget
as soon as it leaves my eyes
I'm liable
Distracted
Careless
Unmindful
I have lost so many things
some misplaced
forgotten
stolen, I’m sure
I've lost people
For the same reasons
Its enough to drive me manic
I can’t trace
where the last place
I had it
was
The worst
Is when I don't even know
I've lost it
until the universe
decides to taunt and tease me
with that information
I've lost songs
that hold memories
of my childhood within their lyrics
I've lost movies
Some I've just watched too many times
I've lost feelings
at least all the intensity in them
So,
I've started hoarding
I told myself I'm not losing that nostalgia
So I'm boarding them up in boxes
I'm being present in my past
and these are the paradoxes
In which my unlost will hopefully last
Not to be dramatic
But I love to be dramatic
You're one thing I look for every time
But I couldn't find you if I tried
No crumbs, no remnant
nothing in these boxes
will cause remembrance
One day, I'll be going through
and one day, I won't care to find you
Sep 8, 2023
Sep 8, 2023 at 1:03 AM UTC
You still are my blue jay of yore,
the songbird on the low branch
of the evergreen tree under which
I pitched my tent till my thirst was quenched
by your arias in blissful altisima poured in to my soul.
Your songs steadfastly refuse
to go down with time like leaves that wither and fall
those immortal moments, you gifted
did flow in to the blue ocean of time
where i float, refusing to be beaten down by waves.
Those notes by sheer power of infused spirit
of your heart, make me still buoyant, I am indebted,
your song book, in gold is engraved, in my heart.
One journey continues, unmindful of every change,
through planes of timeless nature where we are one
defying rules man made, and imposed by mind.
We are two pure notes of music that fly, up and above
merge with the sonorous primordial hum of divine.
Feb 18, 2015
Feb 18, 2015 at 8:47 PM UTC
In the kaleidoscope of affection, I painted you with hues of adoration, blind to your monochrome reality.
Eyes fixed on the canvas of our shared moments,
I brushed away the shadows you cast on the edges.
Your smiles, a palette of warmth, a sunlit mirage,
Masked the colder currents beneath the surface.
I sculpted your silhouette from fragments of devotion,
Blind to the chisel that carved deceit into your contours.
Each word you spoke, a lyrical serenade,
Harmonizing with the symphony of my own yearning.
Yet, within the notes, the discord of deception echoed,
A melody played on strings attuned to your agenda.
In the gallery of my heart, your portrait hung,
A masterpiece crafted by hands that concealed ulterior motives.
I traced the lines of your whispered promises,
Unaware they were sketches of transient commitment.
The truth, veiled in the smoke and mirrors of affection,
Cloaked by the tender illusions of shared vulnerability.
I basked in the radiance of your borrowed light,
Unmindful that shadows were the offspring of your truths.
Blinded by love's unforgiving lens, I sculpted a narrative,
Ignoring the fractures in the marble of our connection.
In the echo chamber of your affirmations,
The resonance of deception, a dissonant undertone.
"The Truth in Your Lies," an exhibition of realization,
Where the canvas of affection reveals concealed motives.
I dismantle the gallery, unframe the illusions,
Confronting the naked truth beneath the painted veneer.
Dec 1, 2023
Dec 1, 2023 at 5:40 AM UTC
You failed to take your Drone Control Command Kit
as you hurried off at dawn for work this early morn.
Unmindful, I mistook it for a fancy Xbox game contraption,
so commenced a match of Shock and Awe to while away the time
and with the joystick, hot and pulsing, quickly opened fire
at some evil bad-guy villains lurking down below
(nearby, a bus with random kids
confused, in fear and hiding).
Left quite a bit of childish crimson carnage flowing
on congested streets inside a city storming
somewhere…
thank goodness, very far away from here.
Please forgive me, for I think it was
your very last remaining
smart-precision missile…
yes, that pretty one you’d kept so long,
and meant to use some day to sanctify
a humble wedding-day reception…
but as you know I've always had a hang
for children's senseless macho playthings.
Sep 30, 2018
Sep 30, 2018 at 9:20 AM UTC
Escaping the distance beside me
Lying in a sea of false hope
Destined to sink into the bottom of the bluest of black holes
Reaching out to sunnier side of the fence
Unmindful of being sensitive
Disgusted with myself;
Trapped inside of hell
Giving into temptations, save me
Losing sight of all my blessings daily
Wishing I could rewind time and fix the cause
Wishing I could put my life on hold and pause
But I'm trapped in waves of lies above my head
Drowning in your adversity instead
While your laughing because you knew it couldn't be
You love the stench of your own misery
And the weight of guilt upon my conscious
Burdens me a heavy distress
Problems I eventually confess
And you vilify me nonetheless
But it hurts to have to caused so much pain
Lost devotion and found a web to weave my shame
Breathing gets easier day by day as I'm looking into my reflection
Swallowing my vanity to find a whole new perception;
I'm forgiven somewhere deep inside
But lust could not survive the hills we climb
You swear you'd die with all your lies
The indications I never recognized
The facts that keep me awake at night
Knowing we were never right
My stomach's turning,
fuel burning
a few things I still need to learn and
get over and just forget
all our empty promises
Like loyalty and trust
the things we never get enough of
The things we gave up and broke
How lust has me like a choke hold
It's got me wearing false smiles and happiness
Keeping the distance between the both of us
In the sea of covers, waves of lies
Captive of the guilt that keeps me alive
Lost the key, hopped the fence
Suffering in consequence
The things I need, the hurt you bleed
I loathe the stench of my own misery
Mar 28, 2012
Mar 28, 2012 at 1:46 AM UTC