The person that is “I”

An artist is born, yet undiscovered in me,

A feeling of grace, but a lack in the mind,

Absence and thorns, preclude me to be free,

A tear in the face, a lake in disguise,

To all what surrounds me, looking through my eye,

All I see is ugliness beauty, and fulsome emptiness

Asking myself why, truths appears beyond the lies,

Don’t want to feel petty, of the person that is “I”

Liberal my soul is, difficult to be as such defined,

A tournament of nonsense thoughts and dullness,

Incurable! Sense of presence only achieved when blind,

Searching to enhance, what is alluded to as fullness,

Greed for love, love that does not exist,

Time will prove, such a feeling profound and sick,

Shadows, humanity have become, proud to be one

Sake and sanity collapse yet together a unity they become,

A fetus in the womb, alive before it sees the light,

Becoming, not seeing but hearing echoes from outside,

Breathing purely what the other offered for life,

The I float in the river, looking forward to grow and ride.

R.

06/02/10