There was a time (all through my youthful years) that I wrote poetry,
and threw the scrawl on paper into the ignominy of waste bins!
Did I want to change to dust, so early in my life?
Like wanting to sacrilege my own creativity!
Is that what God wanted to do to the Universe…
Or was there present someone more overwhelmingly sinister to blame?
I hear the voices echoing all through the night
And they think I ought to be capable enough to handle my plight
I am silent, I could let them know that I am tired
by the stream of non-stop eternal tribulation, and that of my life!
But I am filled with sense of duty to leave the obligation inviolate
Though I am disillusioned with consternation that nobody sees or wants to listen!
Ought not the criminals deserve to suffer for their crimes?
Is the bow broken even before it sets the arrow?
Do we imagine that only those who are strong and brave deserve to suffer for the sins of the rest, just because they can do it?
I have turned every page of my patience, like the backburner remains lit every moment of this eternity!
Must I only salvage for you all, even if you all deserve to be scavenging the garbage tips, for your crimes against me?!
I have still not cast you out as pariahs, but I am exhausted with the pain and suffering of my sublimity and my somnolent assertiveness!
I seek refuge in hope, to banish the thoughts of my subterfuge!
I live to be alive for truth and justice, therefore,
in spite of my age, and the most age-old tribulation, that you all seek to ignore for all your conveninence!
And I die every moment sacrificing myself and my aspirations for the dignity of truths!
Should you think that evil is capital in this providence, must I let you know that I can annihilate it all!
