Grasping in the dark, and there are no meanings here
I have lost all that; a door closed and trapped now
What caused this to happen? When did it all get so dark?
I am no different than anyone else with his share of heartache
My story is not especially sad, but perhaps my brain is broken
Creativity flows forth, and that’s when I sense a lightness
But under the skin, all I see is the muck and grime
I read about what we do to each other – all those crimes
And now all I see is the grief of the world
I write it down and release the bitterness
But nothing seems beautiful like it used to be
Only the plastic sheen of a materialistic culture
Will my God turn on the light in this dark room?
The only thing I do in these moments is hold on to a frail hope
Each day more of my innocence is lost
Until even the most beautiful sunset seems like desktop wallpaper
But the frail hope remains, a mustard seed
And I hope it will grow again one day
