The substance of things

(hoped for)

many men do many things

Attempting, Slaving, Failing, try

again, Sift through broken patterns in your head

But if you think about it,

They are only angles of things you made
Up to you, Up to me

many dots strung together

to be seen as lines

They form roads and stop signs to a make believe paradise,

Every man or woman commits

(In their head)
I am no sage,

But I have seen them, seeing me

In all my made up fear


But time and again I realise

All I see are from mine eyes

Attempting, Slaving, Failing to see through

Idealised victories in Love and

War, wars – fought by any given dogma that pervades the spirit

Is it really worth all the fighting?
Fall asleep crying, with premonitions of past sorrow

Cruel You are, O Merciful one, that after each night of striving, failing, clambouring toward paradise,

we will Still wake up tomorrow


walk out what is unwritten


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