Countless eyes are staring,
heavenly beings are questioning,
and the council of gods are even suspecting
to the destiny we are still holding.
Questions overpoured
if our fate are really meant to be endured,
or it is just a play for the world to be pleased
hiding behind facades we know we do not truly live.
My face is tired to mask it all,
all the do's, don'ts, oh the stupid rules,
the steps and moves of this town's demanding shoulds
in this flashy public dance on the middle of this ball.
Drop your masquerade, let's cut these strings and ties,
let's escape from this fog of disguise,
and let's run to the other side.
Trust me, and lay your hands tight on mine.
Let our feet wander in this new forest of bliss
where no speculations at last, no gossiping bees.
Let's venture here and enjoy our wanted liberty
of freely being You and being Me.
YOU ARE READING
Letters from the Blued Underground
PoetryRaw compilation of emotions and experiences by a young man that were not often expressed by his tongue but only written in the secret chambers of his heart.
