The Mausoleum of Thoughts

In the paradigm of life everything is placed in order

The mechanism of which advises you to move forward

Any uncertain delays leaves heart pumping fast

A tear of rage bullies mind and shuns the warning cast

Hapless sit wringing hands waited to be interviewed

Alike disection the conscience probe leaving you to stew

Sitting in front of looking  glass, finding faults where they exist not

Each day the Granfather clock ticks,spending in ease precious time

Heard he not from the grapevine, that its soul of sloth

Everyday creating a new possibility trading reality in cost

Closest memory is a vain attempt to dream

Closeted fears floats the boat in irrational stream

Seemingly on every moment thesis is  formed

Gradual with maybe’s “And I belong but ..where?” question stalks

Complex webs the neverves forms inside the skin

Speaking a language, stuttering the good deeds and sin

Aftermath, is where the batttle is won or lost

And then he  moanfully  looks  at the mausoleum of thoughts.

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