DEARTHY LIFE - light at the end of the tunnel
Its ambiguity is a reflection of its simplicity
Not the definition of who we are
When we sojourn to Zion, Our City
We chose this path whether our days to make or mar
Though the flow of my retina river has flooded its original purpose
The joy we may say, seemingly dreadful red,
Yet the Me do not only speak of I but of those
Who have shared of this shewbread
On the path of making I,
My high is bluntly seen by my eye
The cause is not blindness
But crumbles of mistakes of others
Soaring like an eagle, with grown feathers
O! Life, for those who are of your table,
Who drank of your wine,
Never had a choice to whine
You only became to them a fable
Some struggled to call for a struggle,
By choosing to invite a Deux machina
To take over the fight, this same tussle,
They, to your decision they shiver
Of these ones, victory was more or less no fight at all
Of these ones renounced the fight
When the battle to them was never a haul
At dawn, it came like a thunder strike
In a blink, my eye saw the burning bush
With a voice giving strength to my hope, a spike
Just as a drunkard with an empty jar in a desert awaiting the push
