Lend me a hand

Obsessed with thoughts, overpowering my conscience,
Distressed all the time, amplifying my false sense,
I'm drowning too deep into the ocean of emotions,
Emotions I can't let out, afraid of aversions.

Losing my rationale, I ponder over a tiny miss,
Where wondering makes no sense, but my mind can't miss a hiss.
Reminiscing the days deeds, drawing out the darkest memories,
Concealing the bright ones, I contemplate on the worries.

Weeping in solitude, feeling wholly devalued,
Affirming my thoughts, that ask me to seclude,
I'm diving deep into this darkness, as it was never amiss,
Please lend me a hand, pull me out of this abyss.

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THE PURPOSE SO GREAT

Waking up everyday to the pleasant daylight,
Wanting to be better, to be the best to win the fight,
That the destiny has in store for the one with my might,
I pushed people down, so they don't blight the right.

I was the chosen one, serving the purpose so great,
Or thus were my thoughts, blinding me to the truth innate.
Believing I was the one, the one who saves all,
I let my pride loose, eluding my life's call to haul.

Enlightening myself after hustling so long,
With my mind which made me realise where I belong,
I saw the world with shame, knowing I was just a pawn,
In the grandeur game of time, which loops on and on.

I now fight none, and I win no run,
Losing my might, as there's no evil I can shun,
Nothing was my life and nobody was I,
Or did I just mistake my purpose, snubbing the strength to fly high?

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Words of the lost

What should I write about? And why should I write?
These thoughts cross my mind every day and night.
Am I not a poet? Or was it all just an act
That the one in me played up until his height?

Did I lose my emotions or just myself to this world?
The world which pulled me in, to write its tales so old,
The tales of the loved, the needed and the damned,
The tales of time, the good and the bad.

Wishing to write all day long, but having no words sprouting out,
Brewing thoughts with great might, but losing them to burnout,
I tried writing the words you're reading, the verses so clear,
The words of the lost, wanting to share a souvenir.

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Gold coated copper can never be as useful as copper or have a pure glow as gold.

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The silence gives me chills as if it's brewing a catastrophe.

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Paid Content

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Fake plays might win today,
But they can't ever take it up the same way.

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There's enough space for light to glow.

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"You up for an other challenge?"

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Bring along the day's pains.

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