I contend with words
In a quiet shroud.
Yearning to be aloud,
Without any silent sound.
I sit with confound,
Of what has gone abound.
I remain unbound,
Not knowing how to turn around.
With an irreverent astound,
I take a look so profound,
of the past filled with confound.
Only to realize like a book misbound.
That actions I took expound,
The hypocrite in me so aground.
Has left me spellbound,
Only for me to cringe with pain
Realizing the hollowness of disdain.
