~ Whinings ~

Moaning of childhood desires,
Is but a fragment of what we desire now,
A basis non the less,
Fueling our lost passions.

What we strive for now,
What we write right now,
What we know is true now,
Only but circumstance driven in part.

Admire thee one who writes,
Writes of the heart's true words and desires,
Knowing no fear nor restriction,
In this chained up culture we've formed.

Seeking only to know,
Seeking only to hear,
Seeking only to speak,
Of one's lost words.

Formed in the depths of the mind,
Deep within the night,
When the soul roams among the darkness,
Is lost among passion in deep slumber.

Awaking to loud ringing,
Not one not two but three.
Deeply exhausted and startled.
Only able to speak in riddles,
that might hide yet tell of the truth.