Why do I see in a world gone blind? I always longed to find the answers, took chances. Asked for the veil to thin. Fault? Mine. Left questioning; my eyes, blessings or curses?
I have a habit of seeing through the cloak that they wear to hide what truly resides in their soul. I have a habit of tearing out skeletons from the blackest of closets; although it’s never the goal. I have a habit of forcing others to look in the mirror, at the darkest parts of their soul. And I no longer want to play the role.
After the flood, the colors were brightened demand tears of pain to feel so enlightened. Lassoed hope from the clouds that caused it to rain, divine intervention to feel love again.
