Pseudo-nativity.

Because thunder bolts bellow in my heart whenever you're around,
Right after it skips a beat.

So many times I've walked into this sandpit,
So many times I've had the chance to take another route.
As my feet step over the imaginary line that separates clouded judgement and heartfelt truth,
I give a nod towards the path of self assurance,
A glance at the path of hope, and a sorrow stare at the path of patience.
So familiar, so immune to the complications and the consequences.


The sandpit engulfs me, caresses me and feeds my emotions,
Its heaviness on my chest, still accommodating my breathing.
Until I have occupied it enough.

It spits me out, it disowns me.
Its comforting burden, warm and gritty, gone.


Stark feelings of hatred, inundate the very molecules of my body.
Then solemnness. Hollowness. Fear.
In whom, now then, shall I confide?
To whom shall I express my feelings, without even having to say word?
Who, then, will surround me with every particle of their being?


Who will pin my heart down, claiming it theirs?
Who will remove my heart's projection for the world to see,
and place it back in my chest with the right key?

Im lost,
People come and go, telling me stories as they pass.
I hear, I listen, but my heart refuses to let up.

My heart will not give me leave to give up.


Instead it beats, it yearns and it strives.

I'll fall again, and there is no doubt.
I'll choose the path leading to serenity.
I'll choose patience, hope and self assurance,
And not give heed to the mist.