the wandering

I look around and all I see is bold hypocrisy
never knowing truly what I’ve found
I wander through this wasteland full of new atrocity
and question why my wrists are tightly bound

the hunters hunt the hunted and the killers kill the killed
the hunter and the killer, I am not
the mind is much more scared now – the thrillers can’t be thrilled
you never know the thrillers ’til they’re caught

the searching eye, it sees me, but it knows not what it sees
the drunken eye can look but it’s not clear
I see the wayward maiden and I watch her as she pleas
and begs the watching eye to see her here

Published by bernardsbarnes

Writer. Artist. Performer. A little boy dreaming of the stars.

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