If you look into my eyes you will see my soul.
Not the soul I was born with, but the one that has been wrought by many years of tears. You will see the hurt caused by injustice or malice. There is also the scar of abuse and the wounds of neglect. And the bruises from dominance and repression. Then there are the marks made by the whips of jealousy from the peers who thought my life was better than theirs.
Look closely and the sea of troubles roars to the shore washing away the youth leaving behind the age of wisdom preferring ignorance to the harms. The sea is gone but the waves have eroded every instance of whimsy and humor. The jokes laughed at are the sarcasms of the dungeon of despair, the days and nights left to the shell of who I was. There is no more to look forward to, there is no night in shining armour to rescue me, the battle has been fought, the war ended , the bruises healed, the wounds disappeared, the life lived, the last of the life left to live, the time growing short. Days they are numbered, little more to do, little left to do it with. Life has been here, has trampled the path, worn ruts into the road wasting away the foundation, the sparkle the glitter, the enthusiasm. Little is left, but to watch the time go by, sit in the chair and remember, and forget, the life that was here, now going there.
Not the soul I was born with, but the one that has been wrought by many years of tears. You will see the hurt caused by injustice or malice. There is also the scar of abuse and the wounds of neglect. And the bruises from dominance and repression. Then there are the marks made by the whips of jealousy from the peers who thought my life was better than theirs.
Look closely and the sea of troubles roars to the shore washing away the youth leaving behind the age of wisdom preferring ignorance to the harms. The sea is gone but the waves have eroded every instance of whimsy and humor. The jokes laughed at are the sarcasms of the dungeon of despair, the days and nights left to the shell of who I was. There is no more to look forward to, there is no night in shining armour to rescue me, the battle has been fought, the war ended , the bruises healed, the wounds disappeared, the life lived, the last of the life left to live, the time growing short. Days they are numbered, little more to do, little left to do it with. Life has been here, has trampled the path, worn ruts into the road wasting away the foundation, the sparkle the glitter, the enthusiasm. Little is left, but to watch the time go by, sit in the chair and remember, and forget, the life that was here, now going there.
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