Ill Heart
With the desperation of echoes,
We mingle in the crowd,
What is it that concerns me,
My soul tends to reach?
Watch repetitive sounds,
Whispers in my ears,
I tend to run, run, run.
Exasperation and remedies,
Bound me not.
Then what stands still,
Amid the crowd of thousand echoes?
What is that sound,
astounds me to the core.
What dilemmas are, what
Seizes the soul.
Emblems of darkness,
Entraises the dark.
What here looms,
Roams about.
Shred of seasons,
Passes to encompass,
How many roars, abhored
The grounds.
Depletion of turmoil,
Still exists. Conditions,
Revise in cycle,
Unless the turn withdraws.
Exasperation and remedies,
Bound me not,
Then what stands still,
Amid the crowd of thousand echoes?
With the desperation of echoes,
We mingle in the crowd.
What is it that concerns me,
My soul tends to reach?
Watch repetitive sounds,
Whispers in my ears,
I tend to run run run.
The End!
By naming it "Ill", I am not exactly defaming it or demeaning it. My sole purpose is to express the state of it while our heart is ill. This could have been written differently, but I tried it this way,
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