Mellifluous Murmurs

The Cry Of No Other

I see you every Saturday

at the house of holiness and purity

I see you every Saturday

even if I can't physically study your physique and almightiness

I see you every Saturday

just to kneel down upon your knees and to thank you for providing me a life after

I see you every Saturday

to ask you to lessen my cries and night and make me a happy soul...

I speak through the day

and I cry during the night

I am a critical situation

I mentioned none but said all

how can I contradict an alphabet of sources and cranes?

when did I take a picture of my life and display it on so of a movie?

when did I put my life in such vain along with the destiny of imminence and practice...?

things are being taken care of against me

against my will    

against my sanity

against my own self

I'm an open book

others find it intriguing

some find it mysterious

many find exploiting

but I know the Lord is watching me while he smiles down towards my mind

my curious and typical mind...

I have been occupied in this life for not so long but not too short

my life shatters before me

not in a melodrama

but in a reality of adventure and fictional, universal reality

this isn't a fantasy!

if a cup can be carved and designed to mosaic arts and airy paints of sheer color

then why can't I have a structure of stress and strike upon this land?

I only cry tears at night because the dark is my comfort

we blend in utter black and I sleep with comfort more than a hundred of percentages

I know myself and I know what I like, what I want

when I want it; my serenity of shielding

when I look upon myself,

I know it's there somewhere

I know where my dignity is hiding

it isn't in my heart

nor my soul

it is hiding in my black curiosity;

the cry of no other can maybe choke on it

nearly sheer

but nearly deathly

plain beautiful; only to the eyes of beauty.