Why do scabs form if not to cover and protect,
Or heal a wound too fresh to yet scar?
Why do scabs fall before their time,
Before fulfilling both function and duty?
The promise of liberation,
After shedding of one's self.
The prospect of success,
Free of disappointments and persecutions.
A cry of dreamers far too detached.
A cradle of promises void of credibility.
A plethora of old wounds too raw to face the elements once more.
A soul unbeknownst to the warmth of light lost amongst the shadows.
Bereft of dreams or aspirations,
How can one rationalise such an existence?
Bereft of form or guise,
Searching for a reason to believe,
To believe in the hope that lies within.
No comments:
Post a Comment