The world has me lost in comprehension to the definition of human nature.
Situations only create an inaccurate charade to where honesty lies.
I look to blood, in which I trust, for the truth, but the answers only dwell in the darkness in which I endure.
Helpless is what I am, and I am set back to memories that should have died.
If only there were another day, another sunrise, to say goodbye.
An entanglement of perplexity that masks what is seen clearly with my own vision.
An extremity of bewilderment granting answers where I merely do not listen.
If one cannot be seen does thou still exist? Only my hidden truths I cannot deny.
It is human nature to fear what we do not know,
Yet I am eternally perplexed; probing and ever unsatisfied
Searching to discover the unattainable answers of mystification
To exhaustion. I sleep and I still think; nightmares of whom and what I cannot control.
For what does it mean to possess an inconsolable soul?
And to whom that does not believe a spirit exists in mankind,
Why does he fail to recognize the inquisitive energy that made me cross paths in his lifetime?
Is it not odd that intrinsic time has worked its way into his purpose, yet he disregards the notion and limits it to coincidence?
Oh how it made me misread all that makes his identity.
The familiarity of this feeling and passing is sickening sadness.
I hold a deep resentment in a subconscious kind of way that opposes serenity.
With age I learn that mankind is moving further and further into solemn independence.
Human nature is still apparent, yet it is turning into self-governance; where is the selflessness?
For it was the word that meant something back in time; it was all we had to communicate and spend time with.
Honesty mattered. The word mattered. Promises had an elevation of concreteness.
A lonesome word does not possess the exact worth in present time.
The word does not define anyone, and it only makes a politician of a person.
It is action that now has meaning if it is in correlation with the same person’s word.
Too often than not, they are disconnected and the word is shattered and the dishonest action begins to define one’s nature; the word becomes a lie.
Man-made potions to alleviate the pain; Oh how we are the masters of our own destruction!
Boredom, antagonism, impatience and envy are a pinch of struggles that must be rectified.
Will the forsaken cure ever be established so that we understand self-made corruption brought on by synthetic lies?
Too often than not the power is given to a puppet with an army of frauds controlling the strings; we believe in the image, but we do not take time for the needed investigation.
If the values of the past are not spread into our sons, then we are giving birth to robots; what is human nature?
– Tia D. O’Grady