I believe

That is is all falsified.
That my conscience is the foundation of my choices,
Even if it has many voices,
Which do not tread with ease,
Over my overanalytical mind.
So you tell me one thing,
But I'll actively choose another,
Just to pull one over on you,
Get the ruse?
I knew you would.
Carry on.

Glimpse into Personal Oblivion.

With these confines,
comes the challenge of a lifetime.
Who knew taking the last few
breathless steps might lead
me to paradise.

OR at least to a new path
on which I must step.
But stepping had become
less easy, with every
rich milestones. And
for my body to face
adversity,
its indignant opposition
was unsatisfactory.

So what dwells in me?
Nothing less than there was before,
nothing new for my memory to store.
So where does the displacement return to?
When the bow of my soul
heave to sway of the darker storms
of my ego.

There would be no place
for my hope to go.
Optimism is a fire
which demands constant tending,
and my despair a wound
which needs constant mending.

When I cross the
threshold to my own
deliberate path,
words of discouragement
will be the one thing I lack.

I want to take myself aback,
and expose my apprehensiveness
as an elusive virus,
with no real substance.
So the cure can come in due time,
only faster.

I ask thee, God,
to illuminate the darkness of doubt,
which eats my conscience,
and unhinges my conviction.
And turn the wine of disparity,
into water of delight.