deepundergroundpoetry.com

Calling to the Wind

Suppose I work my humble hands to point of numb and ill
Suppose I sacrifice my time to climbing up the hill
Suppose I lend that which I have with no return or thanks
Suppose I stay within my place and never chase the ranks
 
A life confined to aches and pain, and void of what I crave
A life deprived of ecstasy, till lowered to my grave
A life of giving out but never up, and never taking
A life of keeping all together in the face of breaking
 
How should I behave to earn my entry to your world?
How should I react in times my patience is unfurled?
How should I atone for my transgressions in the past?
How should I treat those that saw my suffering and laughed?
 
When will I be free to see the world in all it's glory?
When will I be needed as the hero in my story?
When will I have autonomy without these strings attached?
When will I see someone in the mirror staring back?
 
Suppose I reach my end and see for nothing I obeyed
Suppose I leave my faith and see the reason to have stayed
Suppose I cause destruction when I cannot take the load
Suppose I give my heart away to only die alone
 
I see no need for worship, no call to praise your name
But see the reason why you ask I live inside the frame
What, therefore, am I to do if all I once believed
Proven to be fallacy and so I've been deceived
Written by Benzy_420 (BTheW)
Published
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