AN ERRATIC POOR SOUL

It's not my eyes but it's my heart that wants to weep,

The torn pieces inside hit me very deep,

Countless poems I have written to ease this pain,

When I'm getting traumatized what's the gain?

At times when natural bud blooms on my face,

Some unfortunate floods will vanish away from my embrace,

Are these emotions treasured gifts from above,

O, my poor soul is nowadays cascading out of love,

Whom should I please, either God or my soul?

Whom should I question neither people nor sole?

People describe a thousand quotes as saying alright,

But, I want to scream terribly to control my emotions at night,

My life was always a game controlled by someone,

Open the lock of my heart and have a read you will be stun,

I'm a lovely curse who raises my voice in a dark hour,

And that's how my personality turns out to look like a sunflower,

Still awfully I overthink about everyone around me,

Comprising infallibly that one day life will turn out as a bewitching artsy,

Even tho' I'm living in the present my mind rotates on the past,

Not knowing what I will lose and what will last,

It's not my eyes but it's my heart that wants to weep,

The torn pieces inside hits me very deep.