Poezja

A lost soul wandering through the darkness of life, struggling to understand wrong from right, trusting in the end there exists salvation’s light, making it all worth the fight.

Born to a world that seems callous and forlorn, left to battle alone the storm, impeded by shackles imposed to be worn, no tribute of gift without the scorn.

The mind bleeding for answer to uphold, finding falsehood in all that is believed to be told, youth fast given to time that is old, the fight loosing the rage of bold.

Where in the end is fortune to life to be found, given this birth with little chance of the profound, a destiny that ends with the ground, left to ask: what merit of presence is redemption bound?