Eternal

It's all a game of shadows;

of ones's self, seen in in a son;

long lost, in heavenly gallows.

Eternal

It's all a game of shadows;

of ones' self, seen in a son;

long lost, in heavenly gallows.

Beautiful as he was,

born in mortal flesh and bone,

for a moment; shook an atheist in me,

Resistance to divinity did moan. 

I so very wish,

in every sleepless night,

prove me wrong, let God exist.

For then I might finally,

settle it all; in a final fight.

The corner of a pillow is the only witness,

to the teardrops shed by an awkwardly "strong" mother,

an eternally shredded soul of a father,

for anger is the only emotion,

left to forge in a furnace.

The om, the crescent or the cross,

beliefs are none but imprudent markings on the wall,

carved on frivolous structures, satisfying a million mortal soul,

with no ambition to break free, but to crawl.

Yet, I desire,

to see you once,again in mortal form;

for it was you, who made me break my daily norm,

for it was you, in whom I saw the meaning of the markings,

I so despised. For it was you, my song of tomorrow;

now all undone.