Hiding

I am hiding.
Within my world.
Unable, unable and unable.
To cope with the vision of perfection.
The world outside lives and celebrates, in vanity
While I turn like I am in my grave.
I am living just like this world.
Nothing more, nothing less.

O’ what do you yearn for my soul?
Is it the rainbow that moves you to joy?
Is it the green pasture that creates raptures?
Is it the love, never to be given?

O’ what do you cry for my child?
Is it the mother that chided you then?
Is it the memory that makes you choke now?
Is it the dream turned sour?

O’ what do you yearn for my man?
Is it the vision denied?
Is it the conceit you detest in you?
Is it the call now being answered?