Threads of Words

My Undoing

The knowledge that I have come to know throughout my life has become my solitude.

But everything that wisdom has taught me can diminish into nothing.

Nothing can become something once again,

And later on that something can revert back to nothing by a mistake.

Understanding what I have done will poison me slowly.

My matured mind will become young,

By immaturity that I transfer to it by own doing.

What else do I possibly expect.

Do I expect that simple things things will give my solace.

Do I intend for my intentions to be glorifying.

I could tell myself a thousand things that my mind will not do.

Can you see my personality through my words.

I doubt that you can for I chase it away from you and me.

Is there any hearers of my tale.

I do not know,

For I do not know if even the silence can hear my abstract written words.

I run through tall grass just to jump over the gates to be released from my environment.

But I cannot run into bliss,

For my entire being is darkened by bleakness.

Bleakness that emanates from my own undoing.