Who’s to blame,
I wonder who will let you in.
But I don’t understand why
You speak words with a crooked smile…
And claim it feels better to be alone.
I wonder what its like to be empty,
Your world swallowed in lies and blistered faces.
I wonder, I wonder what its like
To stand at the scene of the crime
Glancing upon your victim with glorious shame.
I don’t understand your mind, what you say.
I wonder, are you aware… I daresay,
That your face is hidden beyond recognition,
Beyond your crooked smile?
I’m scared to look ahead,
Yet I fold my arms waiting.
Don’t you see I’m speaking,
It’s sad that you don’t hear me.
The peace that puts my mind to rest,
Lays with these words I share in hope;
Hope that builds while
My arms rest, folded, waiting.
Am I wrong? To wait in turn,
For my return, an end to patience?
It seems I’m the sorrow to blame,
If I could just let go I could find a way.
Is it really because I’m the one waiting,
With pent up words flowing down
Telling me I am the one who’s wrong?
Still I bow my head, fold my arms,
And sit motionless, waiting.
Those daunting words speak
With hollow tones in my mind’s cage,
These moments disperse the pain,
As truth becomes my conviction
And my every utterance a cry for help.
Amidst my pondering and anguish
I find my purpose, that sense of calamity
That brushes away every ounce of pity.
Now this entanglement of my mind
Becomes a fierce passion to correct,
Dignify and prove myself against an attack,
That, in the end, only brings me down.
I can remain whole again to fight and survive
This bitter contact once more.
These thoughts are haunting phrases
Of a mangled adoration of this puzzled peace.
Their binding foundations merge a strength
That is reverberated throughout missing pieces.
Held dear to the heart, they escalate to an oblivion
Then fall back together once more in an echo of their own.