Three
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This poem is about frustration and anger, and also about mysticism.
Sometimes the hatred overflows
However, it is not for other people
It waits and grows and then boils
Until it bursts out of its needle
I dive right into it and watch it
I am left barren without it
Feeding it with more negativity
I rage, rage at the futility
Why do I go on, there is no reason
The ephemerality of my life’s season
Is but a tiny drop in the midst of an ocean
The equation which defines its motion
I see a world of make-believe
The bees are busy and thus I grieve
I weep not for tomorrow
But the disappearance of the present moment
A sight of disparity from this
When I get a small glimpse
Of the eternity in all things
Reminding that we have wings
Not free from our shackle
The long fiery fight we must tackle
Until the end of the very abyss
There, clarity comes with bliss
How do we start, how do we begin
A path, there is always set in
Where is the path, is then asked
Your very mind is, when the illusion is passed
