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A walking stick, some bells, and no rhymes

02 Nov

this bruised heart keeps searching for remedies when the cure lies in itself;

and until it realizes that it is asleep;

and as long as it is asleep it is blind;

blind so that it seeks guidance in darkness;

and it wanders on till the vicious cycle ends;

though none knows its end, and none but One decides when it does;

because the Decree is a mystery;

locked away, beyond the limits of man’s comprehension;

locked away, in the Greatest Secret of all.

 

 

Sometimes I wonder if I will ever complete this search for myself, if I will ever put an end to this confusion.

I believe that God almighty, the most Merciful, Kind and Gracious, pardons confusion. At least.

 

I used to think that keeping anecdotes of my life is a useful medium for reflections and reminiscing (more to the latter) in the future.

Now I question, why hold on to something beyond measure and grasp?

The past is the past. I shall submit to His will and look forward.

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Posted by on November 2, 2011 in Poetry

 

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