there was error in my ways.
bred the night. ended all days.
pervaded each one of my veins.
one by one. all that remains
is this cold centre, is this
small pulsing heart, oblivious
to the error in its ways.
thought its reason, through its haze,
to be so wise to be so strong
to be an unbreakable song
and cultivated with conviction;
guarded with plan and prediction-
that held errors in their ways.
they distorted. in a phrase
they projected a flawed map
til its expansion bordered trap.
it was followed. it was traced.
the light of leadership, erased.
there was error in my ways.
the song my blinded centre plays
had overtaken- can't be stopped-
called a tide that can't be topped-
built itself a submarine
to hide from its error unseen.
