Bound

I am driven, but have no purpose.

I seem like a calm before the storm.

I am so sensitive, I feel others pains.

I want to help, but I cannot heal what is not within reach.

Something tells me I am not alone, evidence suggests otherwise.

I can be heard, though not many listen.

I can speak, but not many would understand.

My opposing sides are in far away lands.

I am held prisoner by mine own.

I see what others see, I hear what they hear.

I feel what others do not feel, beneath the surface like an ache.

An ever watchful eye, biding its time, waiting to chide me.

Suffering was my teacher, helplessness my constant companion. What is it that I can do in a world full of the dead.

Hopelessness is my monster, it waits ahead the narrow path, standing, pointing to the fork.

God is my only ally, he waits peacefully, knowing everything will be fine in the end. He sends his spirit like a cup of fresh water. When i ask, his hand is already there, offering it freely.

If only I could express my woes to the world in a way they could understand. All of these blank faces, contorting in an empty way.

Nobody looks high enough to see another pair of eyes staring back.

They fear what is real, hiding in their thoughts, convincing themselves, what else can they do?

Nobody feels deep enough to sense the ever approaching now.

It is eternally changing, it is powerful.

It whispers to our hearts, it will not shout.

What are you afraid of? Can you hear it?

It hurts to return, as if it acts vindictively.

Stop staring at the sun, and you will see your surroundings.