3.17.01
Can
the truth be found when the seeker is shrouded in temptation?
And
can the passionate be satisfied when it means civil damnation?
Of these two questions, my life walks the line and never to stray
Toward
the answers or wrongs – Do they really matter anyway?
If
they did not, the truth would have been found
and
the fire within me quenched; my soul perfectly sound.
It is this type of disturbance from which I thrive,
Depression
to fulfillment, somehow it keeps me alive.
Around,
down, back and forth it can leave a sensitive heart to bleed,
But
soon it pulls itself together in the hopes that I will someday be complete.
The falsification of this hope is reinforced by my nagging anxiety
And
is as strong as natural law and as cold and stiffening as sobriety.
It
is why I must escape away to contemplate
Through
the doors of perception and above to alleviate
The painstaking disgust of the mere sight of this place
All
the wrong doings, mistreatment, and screams leave me in disgrace.
I
turn inward, looking for the answer in an absolute position of hell bent
And
realize I will merely chase the idea of ever being completely content.
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