The agony of your comfort
The restlessness of your tranquillity
The apathy of your passion
The longing of your contentment.
Why, why is your existence so oxymoronic?
Ironic isn’t it? Since you call yourself the clearest headed of all
Boast your power, which regrettably exists, oh how tragic.
Oh heart, which depth of yours do you want me to crawl?
Which slumber of mine do you want to wake me from?
Which meander of mine do you want me to navigate through?
Which ship do you want me to build to escape the storm?
And are these all the things there are to be faced or even they seem few?
In front of your might and glory, I feel foolish to even ask.
The waves you drown me in that you call feelings
Rip away the only defence i have against the world, my only mask
And leave me bare to face my truth, alone and stripped to carry-out my healing.
Take a step back heart,
Put a rest to your ways
Let you not always a conflict start
Let you not make me lose myself in your maze.
But as I say this, the irony now hits me
As I discover that this time I am the oxymoron
For I can not deny that your maze, I want to see,
For I cannot turn away from the things, to stay away from those I had sworn.
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