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.