If I dig this line along this vein,
Will this curse of consciousness depart?
Or will my thoughts outlive my breath,
And the failing of this heart?
If I dig this groove deep down this track,
Will the criticism stop?
Or will my personal inquisitor maintain his case
Mindless of whether I breathe or not?
And if I cut at once this sacred cord,
Will a silent bliss ensue?
Or will the static and the noise,
The mocking tone – continue?
If I sever what I’d formerly treasured,
Will peace, at last, come near?
I’ve not the conviction to face my doubts
And thus I must stay here.
Each wave of trouble comes to pass;
I turn to see its path:
A hurricane of hurt and tears
But I remain… in parts.
This longing for release will never cease –
This World I have found “wanting”,
But I lift my head, and face my dread,
Finding each break of day less daunting.