Quietly, quietly, I hear ingenuity
I see the figures of pure price and privacy
Folks love society, yet question autonomy
How can a bird fly with wonders and cruelty?
Quietly, quietly, listen so quietly
Listen to stories so filled with nobility
No plot or melody, no theme or certainty
All I behold is old-fashioned temerity
Quietly, quietly, these lines are heartwarming
Drilling your spirit and taking adversity
Night will bring jealousy, cold generosity
Younger emotions will fade, thanks to fallacy
Are we all saddening, soaked in diversity
Waiting for sunset to state we are solidarity
When facing curiosity, coated in maturity
Be cautious to listen and feel all uncertainty
Quietly, quietly, life is no cavity
Think of the battles you’ll fight for true victory
Feel all stiff enmity, but keep prosperity
So you won’t be crushed by the saintly guilty.
Do you ever feel the thorn of winter in summer?
Do you ever feel the cold breeze linger on your shoulder?
Do you ever understand all the mysteries of the dark?
Do you ever hear the voice that screams at your back?
Do you ever feel afraid in the midst of the crowd?
Do you ever seek a friend in the mist under ground?
Have you seen everything that is hidden from man?
Have you heard every tune in the music of the land?
Have you tried to be sane in the middle of a storm?
Have you tried any trick to redeem your soul from the worms?
Source: The Search For Madness.
I heard that you found a way
To get a rusty escape
I heard that you moved away
To hide from the wild fame
I heard that you were afraid
To even pronounce your name
I heard you gave up early
Because you had no money
I heard you took a knife
And tried to take your life
I heard you heard my voice
And tried to avoid my words.
If your hand shall not be hopeful
Shall the jailer bind your wrists
And inflict tiny sorrows on them
Until you learn the levels of pain?
If your feet shall not be hopeful
Shall your limbs be given to the crippled
That they may run round rejoicing
While you ruminate over its worth?
If your breath shall not be hopeful
Shall your life be paused temporarily
To save that infant in the incubator
That you may value the priceless?
If you shall not be hopeful
Speak to your humble feet
That they may obey your knees
To kneel gracefully in future gratitude.
The beauty painter stares at the face
Circling every ugly ruined spot
Which her fingers must distil
Under oil and colour.
Like the exterior artist
The costumier looks at the skin
And asks questions to carve the shape
Of that woman in her prime
Who refuses that age defeats her
Else the beauty lines will fade.
So the eyes protect the brows
In their architecture and design
Leaving the observer confused
As to if art were flawless perfection.