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Description
A poem bound in the words of truth
is simply the greatest one could find.
for if one has never read the words of truth,
he must surely be bound, and blind.

some people think,
but how is that enough,
when they cannot even hear the thoughts
that plague their brain, up and up.
the thoughts one thinks can be great at times,
bit surely they cannot help the rhymes.

others do,
and thats alright...
but they do without thinking,
not even in slight...
how this can be healthy, i simply dont know.
but they make it work, unwise though.

but then there are the voices.
dictating, orating...
they tell how to live, they criticize mistakes.
they remind of false facts, ever berating...
quoting the words of others is no proof.
at least, not of the ever great words of truth...

the worst is the pain
of those voices, the phantoms...
be it ones ive hurt, or those who've hurt me,
both are worse than the deadliest tantrums...
but i suffer on through all my regret,
for the little hope i have is all that i'll get...

I try to tone them out,
but it just gets worse.
as i slowly go insane,
joy can only come in a hurse.
that said, i can only hope the end comes soon,
as i look up and despair, staring, at the slow, setting, moon...

now i am shackled,
shackled to my hate.
why can't the end come,
at such an earlier date?
but what is this, as im chained to these bars?
a sliver of hope, come down from the stars?

i slowly realize i am not alone.
there are those who would help to heal,
like me, like you, like everyone else.
but these are different, more bound to feel
the same pain as i, and that means the most.
they seem as if sent from the heavenly host...

i walk this path as i have before.
in grained in my brain,
this path has become.
but this time as i walk through the rain,
i become slowly aware...
of a presence beside me, comforting, and there...

so there are thinkers,
and there are doers...
but in the end, neither trump all.
it is the overcomers, and companions, that answer that call

Description
A poem bound in the words of truth
is simply the greatest one could find.
for if one has never read the words of truth,
he must surely be bound, and blind.

some people think,
but how is that enough,
when they cannot even hear the thoughts
that plague their brain, up and up.
the thoughts one thinks can be great at times,
bit surely they cannot help the rhymes.

others do,
and thats alright...
but they do without thinking,
not even in slight...
how this can be healthy, i simply dont know.
but they make it work, unwise though.

but then there are the voices.
dictating, orating...
they tell how to live, they criticize mistakes.
they remind of false facts, ever berating...
quoting the words of others is no proof.
at least, not of the ever great words of truth...

the worst is the pain
of those voices, the phantoms...
be it ones ive hurt, or those who've hurt me,
both are worse than the deadliest tantrums...
but i suffer on through all my regret,
for the little hope i have is all that i'll get...

I try to tone them out,
but it just gets worse.
as i slowly go insane,
joy can only come in a hurse.
that said, i can only hope the end comes soon,
as i look up and despair, staring, at the slow, setting, moon...

now i am shackled,
shackled to my hate.
why can't the end come,
at such an earlier date?
but what is this, as im chained to these bars?
a sliver of hope, come down from the stars?

i slowly realize i am not alone.
there are those who would help to heal,
like me, like you, like everyone else.
but these are different, more bound to feel
the same pain as i, and that means the most.
they seem as if sent from the heavenly host...

i walk this path as i have before.
in grained in my brain,
this path has become.
but this time as i walk through the rain,
i become slowly aware...
of a presence beside me, comforting, and there...

so there are thinkers,
and there are doers...
but in the end, neither trump all.
it is the overcomers, and companions, that answer that call