Where the Lines Drawn Thin
Where does the madness stop? When does the healing begin?
conforming to flesh that was my own resemblance I'm making my amends.
We all lie naked, only in truth can we blanket the scars,
deep is the secrets where chains bind our compromising hearts.
Who's to say we aren't too weak? Where are the strong to set us free?
Who's going to stop us from making us what we have to be?
Plagued are nations screaming a starving cry,
haunted by the feeling's that they'll never see the daylight.
Where dying is freedom from such pain and disease,
Wheres the hope? Wheres the dreams for such as these?
In my own burdens so much of myself I've lost,
for the things I created, the innocence of my mind & soul is cost.
Is it cheap to say that pleasures are keen,
to making it temporarily not afraid to be seen?
It's hard to imagine in youth what we are to for see,
when everywhere we turn it's disasters, feens, & war laid at our feet's.
If we're killing ourselves all along then where's the stopping point?
How do we define our race if we don't know where we are going?
There's got to be a place where the lines aren't drawn thin,
where we find the peace in mankind and the healing process does begin.
As we each in this world step foot toward what one day may be the end,
we shall learn the lessons of our creations, those of war within our sins.
Copyright © Joe Yarbrough | Year Posted 2008
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