Oh, such is understanding word,
That all you read seems quite absurd.
I get the point for I have pointed,
But, say, my elbow was disjointed?
And what I pointed to was broken
Must I then speak in words true spoken?
Or does a heart ken all it sees
And bows on genuflected knees?
No, truth is quite transparent when
The washer wipes and so reckons
That all they see inside the room is not
All fear and doom and gloom.
But, measured with some point of faith,
Relays the truth and sees the wraith
That succours to a heaven sent
And knows that life is all but spent.
A future seems so much to clear,
Enamoured, fill their hearts with cheer.
But, truth be told,
There is no heart in those I here now do depart
From, endless war that is so waged.
Engaged I find and, too enraged.
This bastard life that spat
Knows not family delusion.
A happy child, a carefree name.
Identity inside the frame
Of subterfuge and grand design
This heart is broken. ‘Tis not mine.