My Paradox
I sit here waiting, for a message, to bloom.
I hear all, but silent sounds, from this room.
Echoes rage, in this mind, that I do serve.
Causing pain and discomfort, without nerve,
This gift of future thoughts, left undeserved.
Not truly a gift, it rages, my life unnerved.
Why should I be the one, to see these crimes?
When will they cease, before the end of times.
In the mind’s eye, these words make me weep.
In the shelter of foreboding, the mice creep.
Silently they move, to cause not one sound.
Quickly they scamper, in no single path.
Same as my mind hinders my body, in wrath.
Within the streets of man, shadows settle.
My soul and heart stays, the paradox to mettle.
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