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Personal Note:

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Poem

My father held me in his hands,
And told me life was cold,
Daddy can you see me now,
I'm frozen to the bone.

Perched at the window,
Silent wind moves the leaves,
Do you hear the whispers-
Rats scuttling in the eaves...

The fountain and the birdhouse
Are idle- they stopped coming.

Now I'm at my corner,
The window is seething:
Teething, beating,
Creeping, weaving
In and out,
Inhale, exhale,
Drafts of cold wind-
[A solid prism of malice].

The birdhouse is churning my insides-
Grief.

First they fed me sunshine,
And fake smiles for dessert,
Now I fear their faces,
Hands are meant for hurt.

Judgement is reserved for God,
And yet they think they know,
What makes me tick-
Heart, beating, slow.

Four walls keep me unknown,
Segregation- invisible,
Our lives are controlled,
People- divisible.

They told me I was Him,
Fallen in the wake
Of thunder proud and just,
Sent down to Earth
To wreak and surge,
And fill mens' hearts,
With perpetual lust.

They are right.
We all are.

The mind believes in delusions false,
To soothe the pain, and quell the loss-
Of Heaven's kingdom, from mortal men, 
That forever crave the firmament.

Yet some are destined not to know, the joy
Of living so;

For when Hell is born inside of you,
Delusions are many, and desires are few,
It is then that the false becomes real
And the delusions, come true.

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