|
~ 1 ~
Hell does not reside in me; there is no room,
'Tis only thoughts of peace; no thoughts of doom.
That which invades the sanctuary of myself
Can claim no victory o'er my mental health.
For what I retain from what I cast away
Are only pleasant ingredients with which I play.
For those bitter days of hardship and remorse
Have had their time for they have run their course.
'Tis I this castle which denies the determined foe;
My moat is deep and there is no bridge you know.
For here alone I reside with the thoughts I choose,
And not with thoughts another might abuse.
The isolation and the loneliness I feel,
Is something that no Hell can from me steal.
~ 2 ~
Do you not know I am the island of the free?
For here inside there is no one but me.
I can't be touched by any sort of probe,
For I have no burden or regretful load.
I may well suffer every day this pain,
But it is mine; it is not smeared with shame.
It is simply death claiming what I lease,
Until my life in it's good time doth cease.
I cannot share this "who I am" with you,
For with such knowledge what would you do?
'Tis all I am what in your minds you think,
For 'tis by your voices that I rise or sink,
I am my shadow; my loneliness; my way,
Who has no dreams - but many words to say.
~ 3 ~
When I did strive to gain my place in time,
Thinking it worthy that I with Kings might dine,
That I must be as all those others were,
Who looked upon me as a common cur.
That I should fill my mind with thoughts of greed,
And sow for self the money making seed,
Deny, deceive and seek but personal fame,
It was then I shed all inner thoughts of gain.
I can sit at tables with the lowliest man,
And converse at theirs the high and mighty clan
But none can enter this, my lonely world,
Wherein my essence is so snugly curled
For what I was given by what I was denied,
Is now a satisfaction that I will never hide.
~ 4 ~
'Tis not for pity that I seek your ear,
Indeed they've gone, every bitter tear,
It is not in fact important that you read,
What from this lonely place I have freed.
But if you do, you may not understand
Where came all the words that make the strand.
It matters not what happened in the past,
Retained by some ensuring it will last,
For self sorrow is a crime against the soul,
For while one weeps he never will be whole.
Their names are written on a marble wall,
Millions more are forgotten where they fall.
They died for freedom not for pity's sake
Lest what they died for was a grave mistake.
|