Is it guilt

That makes you run around

To make me fall in love with you?

 

Is it strength in will

Making others look down

And fall in love the way they do?

 

Is it the milk

Of pride and greed that brings about

Its heartless wounds through and through?

 

When do you suppose that I’ll awake

To see that blood runs deep below the waves

To see that stricken arrows are of my own mistake

To see that nature is disguised by misused rage

To fear no more the tigers I must learn to imitate?

 

Is it the end for me

When I wish no longer to interject

With the dignity of stillness and humility?

 

Is it iniquity

Of my place on earth deemed so exact

That only in sleep could I dream of an open sea?

 

Is it only pity

That makes my love seem like facts

And the world spin round in enigmatic honesty?

 

When do you suppose I’ll ever show loyalty?

When remorse grips her iron hand with cold veracity?

When wisdom wastes her spirits bent with treachery?

When hard breath strains the hounds of an unjust fury?

Where my spirit’s poor and fooled by complacency?

 

Is it remorse

That I know you for truth

And know you as the lies I tell myself?

 

Is it a closed door

When you know how cruel

Are the deeds that I claimed I never dealt?

 

Is there nothing more

Left for me to prove?

Can I repair the consequence of a guilty mind?