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?
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