When you question and resent the very workings of the world, what else is it

but the step into a deep, dark tunnel

in which you’ll question,


and hate


There are surmountable injustices, battles you can fight;

but then there are those no one else seems to see:

there are moments when you hate yourself

for being what you are.


And how to transcend your definitions? Can we even imagine

a different reality? Are you meant to be able

to entertain the fantasy?


What is a human? What is the mind?

What are emotions, stirring inside?

Why with such ease can a frown turn to smiles?

Is depth an illusion, invented in hope?

Is it shallow in fact to adore Nature’s beauty,

like it’s shallow to love someone due to their looks?


Do I know what I’m saying, naïvely seeking light?

I’m blind in a tunnel I thought resulted from sight.


Sighing deeply inside at these fixed fundamentals,

am I seeking insanity,

am I asking for pain?

I don’t know where the thoughts lead,

I don’t know if they’ll scar.

Can you really just accept

the way that you are?


Stumbling in, I half yearn to turn back,

hearing reservation and second-thoughts.

The perfect ignorance after so much contemplation,

and it’s not a nice place, asking questions and resenting,

your self haunting you...


but when did thinking ever dissatisfy?

Caught in a place you don’t know you detest,

what is hating the world

but entering a tunnel?

The End

51 comments about this poem Feed