Round a Circle
We are going round a circle,
Running thoughts in scheme of days.
We are promised prize for torture
In the house of shadow blaze.
We are dressed in fell of body,
Feelings, actions, thousands words.
And in time we're never ready
Like inside downtrodden horse.
I desire, I must struggle
For a fluffy airy dream,
And I'm born to realise it
In eternal living stream.
I'm a slave in grip of fortune
Which is given by the clock
As a pay for our accordance
For the cosmic evil mock.
And our quiet humble patience
Makes us fall asleep at ease.
Everything is his creation,
All is shared in equal piece.
We are lost in gloom of action,
Only law above the throne,
Only justice, no compassion,
Only physics, electron.
Pain is filled with expectation
Of a perfect happy end,
That we all return to heaven
To the holy sacred land.
Possibly there are some people
Who can open door inside,
Who can be but never settle,
Who have found the genuine life.
Possibly there are the others
Who have left their cardboard house,
Like mute witness, silent brothers
Watch the earthly fluent chaos.
Possibly we don't remember
Their faces, their names.
We are soldiers of a feather
For the war with ourselves.
