Internal Humanity

Thinking, deciding, and cuddling all muddle flow. I'm not a wiz; I solve, yet my riddles, I know My thoughts and deeds, like an artists', are creative. My reflecting and planning are liberative. Should dews of hope be erased by beams of despair? Should my compassion change as per seasonal air? There are unconscious courses in my mind and soul. Like webs that fuse each fleck and speck into a whole Nightmares that slaughter peace within the inner shrine's core Feeling that, like birds, above the skies of mind sore Impulsive admiration of flimsy beauty All this progress as though a soon-to-do duty Love, happiness, forgiveness, compassion, and trust Collide with loneliness, helplessness, and disgust Self-awareness, like a breeze between tempests, struggles Between beliefs and doubts, there are silent rubbles. While sour dualities of good and bad exist Isn't there, between each straight-seeming path, a twist?