Ears deprived of words that provide you comfort
and hands that fail to put efforts.
Eyes that don't get to see the bliss they seek
and heart that is apparently meek.
Perspective more tangled than my earphones,
dry mouths that have lost their tones,
like a wanderer that has lost his home
and has sought solace in a rabbit hole.
Lungs that entreat for something more than just oxygen,
as if the air around is filled with just poison
But someday, your soul will find a way,
towards rapture, keeping all your melancholies at bay.
