I just happened over some old poetry I wrote a long time ago. It's strange I don't remember the emotions that went along with these words. I did a revision of some of the verses but the idea is essentially the same, although I still can't put my finger on when I wrote it or why. It was from a period when I was still writing poetry the had some sort of hidden meaning. Anyway, it's reads as follows...
While too many bells rang in my head
I dreamt it was the wind whistling
when I heard them whispering
IT was never a battle won
But a defeated groveling
Hasty enormous mole-hills
Sprouted in place of my yellow-brick road
Each Step taken in place of a Leap
Always incessant trudging along instead of running
IT was never a battle won
But an unvarying mending
Enter stage left Disappointment
Maybe you’ll stay awhile.
Blood and sweat drip free from these hands
He might tell me otherwise, smiling.
It's funny how I never listened to my friends when they were trying to tell me something for my own good, even though I'd thanked them each time for being honest. I realize now they were the ones who saw the reality while I was being blinded by the shroud of 'love'.
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