Marcy

There are things that I write,
That at the time seem nothing more than drivel,
Thoughts ejected from the constant swirl,
That when heard make heads swivel,
They come from places the heart won’t go,
Propelled outward by the mind,
Thoughts that seem like self abuse,
In the constant daily grind.
 
 
At times the thoughts feel alien,
Some inner beast that’s gone berserk,
And in the shadows of the heart,
There are dreams that forever lurk,
Can the conscience over ride,
Those acts that we commit,
Or do we somehow forgive ourselves,
If the heart’s all we permit.
 
 
We have the thought from time to time,
That there’s a kindred soul who cares,
Knowing that they really exist,
But always wondering where,
Then we hear the disarming phrase,
Oh and by the way,
Dreading what is then to come,
Because it shows there’s more to say.
 
 
Are we judged by the past,
Knowing it’s hard to look away,
As opinions formed seem like solid rock,
That’s eroded into today,
As we ignore the things we found,
Is it the process of how we learn,
What the hell does love become,
If the fire only burns.
 
 
On our memories we sometimes lean,
Because with them we feel less cold,
Yet in the pleasure that we recall,
Live the betrayals never told,
It’s easy to have someone to blame,
As we remember  by the way,
But somehow the truth gets lost somewhere,
In all we refuse to say.
 
 
Late at night we have a dream,
And in the darkness it’s a shimmering light,
As we pick a path based on emotion,
Though we wonder if our direction is right,
We’re faced with all we think and feel,
And we think, oh and by the way,
We remember when love began,
Realizing it came to stay.

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