In the murky depths of night's embrace,
I, a shadow, roam this place.
My footsteps muffled by the mist,
I hide in darkness, ever exist.
My skin, a canvas, pure and white,
Yet my heart a prisoner of the night.
For though my soul is free from sin,
My hands bear witness to where I've been.
They call me a paradox, a mystery,
An enigma of history.
For though I am a sinner, see,
My heart is free from iniquity.
In my eyes, a fierce inferno burns,
A passion for justice, the world unlearns.
For though I am a creature of the night,
My heart is aflame with a righteous light.
I move in silence, swift and sure,
A dancer on a stage obscure.
My every step, a melody unheard,
My every breath, a whispered word.
They say I am a sinner, cursed and damned,
But they do not see what lies at hand.
For though my hands have caused much pain,
My heart remains forever sane.
The paradox of me, I am,
A mystery, a truth to unhand.
For though my hands have caused some harm,
My heart remains pure and beyond.
YOU ARE READING
Coffee, Books, and Me |POETRY|
PoetryThis is a collection of Unpredictable Poetries. Coffee, and books have always been my greatest companions in writing my poems. A lot of thoughts always pop up in my mind every time I drink coffee or read books.
