Who can understand the thoughts of a filtered mind,
Deep in it's grooves lie granules of grief,
Who will make the time to sift through and find,
The calloused, wretched stones of disbelief.
What now can we preserve?
Have we found the significant intelect of intriguing thought? Or have we breached a raisened cottage of sorrow that bitterness fuels?
Who knows...
This blows...
Maybe what we seek to find is latched away in the silent cry of a man who dreads the thought of facing tomorrow!