The Refuge

Those fingers are hyper again.

And the mind has found inspiration.
That empty heart that knocks on the stranger’s door.

That cup on top of the wooden table.

Fill it up into satisfaction.
This empty space in an old forgotten home.

Light up the dark as he enters the room.

He brings nothing but complication.
That lonely soul he revisits every day.

A year has passed again.

And the words have worn out into incarceration.
The lonely man has found refuge in this conviction.

The skies are blue while it rains.

Thunder roars in its consummation.
But that sturdy heart rests on his shadow.

This is right but this is wrong.

The mind has lost all full control.
He whispers his arrival with scattered flames and abomination.

But the grip is made of bombs and bones.

The stronger it holds the mightier he goes.
That sturdy heart is wounded after all.

They are all warriors of warfare.

And they are stranded on the same ground.
Their empty hearts have left to find the taking.

Those tears are falling again.

And the mind is fighting with deception.
That lonely place of silence and fear.

That dose he left on the glass table.

A temporary high of pure attention.
The weak soul is confined begging for cure.

Cheer up the gloom as the memory dances.

He gives nothing but affection.
The aching heart is mended anyway.

Time has passed again.

The refuge rooted from misconception.
That dainty image is scarred with imperfection.

The man is confused again.

The wreckages were made to new construction.
That elusive scenery painted with guilt.

This is the beauty of his song.

When the heart finds nowhere to belong.
He takes away the pain like evanescent exultation.