Closing the eyes one sees a window to the soul,
The essence of which is metaphors,
Flashes of colour,
The motions of waves,
The darkness that's eating,
Each and every page—
A persistence of reaching,
To that which brings only pain,
And hurting the gifts,
That your soul they wish to save.
If love has truly found me,
And happiness is at my door,
Then I wish that these visions,
Would stop seeping through every pore.
Logic, I reach out to the—
Evil, leave my sight—
Violence, stop persisting,
To grab me and gripe.
Pain come when your time comes,
And not when all is as should be,
Leave me not in misery,
So a life for you a can lead,
And so this selfishness will no longer deceive.