The feeling of being free,
Away from all fear.
Does it even exist,
Is it real?
We think we know,
But really we don't.
We can feel,
Clean and clear,
There's something not right,
The cage is holding us,
From a beautiful flight.
But what's making us feeble,
Is it the Gods,
Is it the people?
Is it the things that disturb you,
All your stress,
Or all your mess,
Has the darkness taken over?
Believe you will in something wrong,
Eyes yours will stay closed.
All seems an excruciating song,
An addictive oblivious dose.
Yet if you believe,
That you're a special kind.
If you believe,
You can fight through.
The pain will start reducing,
Beauty will start emerging.
Nourishment your soul will gain,
Realize you will,
Strains they were of your brain.
True freedom shall be felt,
Where limitations are left.
YOU ARE READING
Mend
PoetrySomething's misplaced. It's broken, it's harmed and stabbed and hurt. Our visions are blur for we don't look at what's not visible - what's inside, the power and beauty within and how it is misaligned. We need to heal, we need to mend.
