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I am half agony, half hope wandering amidst my thoughts alone; words rising from the darkened void some are blossoms and some devoid; of all inkling of bliss and carefree joy as if strings held by puppeteer who toys; by pricking vengeful thorns deep within my unbreakable psyche with exterior thin; for alike the strongest armour has chinks even one unyielding to hammer bows to pin;
I concede not to dreariness of ego's façade or become a self-concept of dismal arcade; but when harmony of my soulful euphony bleeds to scavenging Ravens' Cacophony; I am lulled back in darkness of ego fed lies wherein I unwillingly return time to time; from the bright breezy meadows of silence and solace which lay under chaotic surface;
for like all, I too am a rose laden with thorns but the thorns aren't a veneer I ever worn; only a passing phase for a wanderer alone alike all, my mind is half agony, half hope.
