hidden is what you lack
behind the black, leather-faced
frontage supposing to be
an anger shouted against you see
the last second thought
before turmoil
before the hearts begin to boil
and ring their toil in the leather-faced
frontage-heart, murky and circled with color
mystery to me what it is you see
drawn up into confusion and turmoil
the mystery soups they broth and boil
hidden now from me, what it is you see
to truly be in the projection of all life
growing and rising and rooting and then
all things are done in the blink of the eye
the way the eye catches from its leatherbound room
and comes in too soon, to mean what is truly there
duly done and sacrificed against these men and their advice
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1 comment:
Sounds like you are angry at your thoughts. Its okay to be angry, its good to express that through poems, a healthy way!
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