The lady.


I am diseased, rotting with desires.
Rotting in my own perfume;
Free me of my malady;
And alleviate me of my malaise.

I laugh but my soul isn't enriched.
My eye's are devoid of expression;
When these eyes weep;
I don't shed tears;
They are secretions of an android.

Physical embellishments to adorn myself,
Epicurean spices to appease my guts,
Music for my ears,
And sights of beauty for my eyes,
Are not the medicines we seek,
For alleviating this soul of it's malaise.

This soul's a bonded slave,
Haunted by ghoul's of the past,
And desires of the future.
It seeks to be free;
Free to be eternally happy.


Leo said…
but will the mind be happy in present if it's haunted by past and tempted by future? a thought provoking post!