Poetry may make us from time to time a little more aware of the deeper, unnamed feelings which form the substratum of our being, to which we rarely penetrate; for our lives are mostly a constant evasion of ourselves. T. S. Eliot
Sunday, May 16, 2010
Jaded
Jaded is the song I sing. I tried so long to let the resonance of my soul guide me through this life unknown. The battle wounds are deep. The scars are there to be seen. I try to keep the peace but all my pieces fall as I am proven wrong. Jaded is the song I sing. I see too much of good sit silently misunderstood. The games all played with brutal aims. The games all played with no aim. Jaded sounds a lot like this. A silence I cant quite ignore. A way for my brain to pick apart like a vulture whats left of my heart.
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