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Hanging On This Impertinent Illusion
I've no strength left to keep fighting,
motivation has worn off like stealth;
voices have no happy sounds,
faces are sad, nobody laughs...
I'm a ghost wandering among the living;
I walk past a cemetery, I smell death!
Isn't it awful to hang on this impertinent illusion,
keeping away the incoherent threat of intrusion?
I spoke sweetly avoiding a harsh voice of villain;
I couldn't tarn the image of perfect gentleman!
Tragedies happen to give us a warning,
who learns from them realizes calamity;
who's proud and fearless understands nothing,
do the strongest show resistance or fragility?
Hanging on this impertinent illusion
makes me fallacious in imprudent decision;
it's incumbent that I exercise extreme intelligence,
not to fall prey to mistakes that bear a consequence!
Rebuke me, if I seem too delirious swaying from commonsense,
it's not stubbornness but deliberate frustration to make me err;
the little hope I held onto has withered and become tremendous fear:
they all agree that hanging on this impertinent illusion is my past tense!
Copyright ©
Andrew Crisci
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