The eye of the storm looks beautiful
You’ll never think it could be.
Those who have the power to calm it,
Seem to enjoy the beauty of destruction.
Those being made empty by the hunger
For love, for life and what makes it livable,
Search for what would give them joy.
But those with the power to make it go away
They enjoy watching them suffer.
The power is the sweetest,
So under their thumb, we’ll always remain.

Subjecting us to pain is not enough
But then comes the shame.
The unspeakable and unimaginable horror
They cannot be fully exposed
Or we are mocked.
And yet we itch to…
The private demons we have to face,
In each of our private lives,
With no hope of reprieve.
With each quarter we hope to change it all.
But the hope is not strong.
And the fight dies out
And then over and over,
We give our destinies to the beautiful storm.
Entrust power to those who won’t calm it
And we moan
But there seems to be no end.
To this vicious cycle

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