From One's Womb

For what art thou so sad?
What for art thee so mad?
The stars twinkle merrily and the moon shines bright,
But is there reason for life, reason enough to live?
Innocence and purity’s for the sake of the people;
The people and their dreams,
The people and their faith,
The people and their hopes.

Lofty expectations are the ones that make us cry
While the desolate ones eat us up from inside
As I refuse to conform to yours,
Then neither should you to mine,
For idealism becomes what we want it to most –
Idealism within ourselves and without the world,
Idealism with a dream and without success due,
Thoughts unfurled without foundation,
For the broken, heartless ravens sing:

"Open your eyes, spread your proverbial wings,
And learn to fly, how to walk away, to believe new things.
Learn to see after a life of utter blindness;
Learn to love, unruled by a past of hatred;
Learn to trust that there is method in the world’s madness –"

Hate to love, pain for pleasure; lead once you’ve been led,
Destruction by creation for creation’s creation itself,
Tales told of tales told by the prophets of old,
Fear of fear itself and the philosophy of the unphilosophical;
Water dousing fire and absorbed by heavens and the Earth,
Scattered to the winds and rekindling flames of the utterly whimsical
Passion reclaiming indifference and eternal birthing of fate,
Everything’s at its time when everything is born; a cyclonic storm of dust.
Sorrow overwhelmed; happiness forgotten, yet peace has long returned;
Existence for one, one for every death –

"Scarred and burned, cold and lost
Gentle aggressiveness; it caresses old wounds
Distraught in acceptance, faithful in doubt;
Torn, violently, from one’s womb."