The smoke from my burning rag
blows into my face
the smoke burns my eyes
I wipe my eyes clean of the dirty, black rag
I look every which way
just not towards
Am I too low
or is He too high?
Emotions and conflict hurt me
impale me, callousing me to no feeling
Return the feeling to me
show me what makes you cringe
My sins, my passions that are NOT you
are leading me down the short, wide road of hell
those who I care about are not you
set the sight back on you
If I lie, I fool myself
Lying to you is like looking at myself in the mirror
I see myself and all that is me
but escaping the at truth is impossible
I soak in the pain
from the ones I work for the most
the efforts seem worthless and patience seems thin
for no influence and no lesson
When I wander back to you,
my mess is cleaned by the pure, white cloth
one who gives me no pain, but takes it all
but ignorance is bliss, I never see it all.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem