The Illusory Loom

Why does the obstinate heart fail to understand?

That there is no magic ticket to any promised land

On barren patches of soil, roses never bloom

Fabrics of fascinating dreams become the mere products of an illusory loom

Patterns of complex emotions as they abruptly manifest

Alternating between uncontrolled angst and infinite jest

Knowingly clinging on to a fading mirage and still unwilling to let go

Finding myself battered by a vortex of fate’s inevitable show

At the point of no return where reigns only sheer despair

I begin to blame the world deeming existence itself to be inevitably unfair

Failing to comprehend that I am the master of my own prejudice and pride

Having no one but myself to scorn, denounce and deride.

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