In the Tunnelled Aoth
I can ask for you to spare me a thought
But you can never spare me your heart
What matters to people like us the most
Is the demon of contempt we host
Our emotions are skeletons
On the face, an old museum of sorts
Wrinkled, numb and void of all feeling
We display decay, without any hope of healing
Corrosive, instead of faith runs through our vanity
Poisoning all the connecting veins of humanity
We have formulated the chemistry of a fear
To bleed the residue of pain with a drop of a tear
Love does not lie, it is upwardly mobile
Sometimes we miss it in our hassle and bustle
Looking for the meaning of life in the tunnelled aoth
Much like us, it never stops searching for the truth
Copyright © Thabang Ngoma | Year Posted 2015
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