It is only in the darkness, can we see the beacon of light.



We walk proud believing in our roles

Carrying head up high but can’t see past our nose.

False identity controls the eternal power within

keeping God trapped in a shallow shell of a being.

Unaware of our true selves we became slaves of our thoughts

Schizophrenic lunatics imagining control.

Strings pulled make us dance to someone else’s tune

Keeping the truth in the mist of deceit,

Like the greatest trick pulled by the devil to┬ámake us believe he didn’t exist,

Our own lives became but our own to live.

There are times we forget how time is non existent

There is no inspiration in improving yourself
it only exists when you are with the pain.

The harsh truth is
somewhere deep inside
the pain is the one
that actually writes.

When you release the pain
you stop to create.

Even the most beautiful of minds
have a dark side.

When we improve we look at the future
when we write we look in the past.

Reality of it is
that only the words of the broken ones
are the one with the touch.

Memory transforms
feeling lasts forever.

Words are in all of us
burried below layers
of unforgiveness and guilt.