Ode to the Surreal Life
ou are a portrait painted on the canvas of time.
Each stroke of the painter's brush seals your fate,
Shrouded in secrecy never to be revealed.
You are a tapestry of woven dreams,
Unraveled by thorns of fear and indecision,
Leaving you searching for a purpose-
Your reason for being.
You are a labyrinth of paradoxical hyperboles,
Luring you away from your predestined path,
Created self-doubt and confusion.
You are an illusion of molded clay,
Swirling in the wind
Bending to the will of the magician's wand
To be bogged down in the quagmire of your mind.
You are an abyss of cold nothingness,
A heart devoid of love,
Where hope, faith and charity cease to flourish,
A meaningless sentence punctuated only by destiny's call.