You like to think that you have yours and I have mine.
What’s right for you is not for me.
There’s no absolute, only shade from a different tree.
Sometimes we bend, others omit, You say there’s degrees;
but the reality is, you just refuse to see.
No ebb no flow, no shifting light. The final pronouncement
ends the night.
Your guilt shouted down, hidden by volume, pride defends the lies you swallow.
Your hate misdirected, aimed at the sky; unjustified rage, mental incarceration.
You’re being tortured by your own head.
It’s all just a lie. One that you believe.
The Truth is a gift – you just have to receive.
Processing…
Success! You're on the list.
Whoops! There was an error and we couldn't process your subscription. Please reload the page and try again.
Mick Holt 