A Season of Distorted Faith

There’s a lot he wants to say
A lot he’d like to express.
An ocean of emotions that he’d like to ventilate.
No reason for nostalgia or for grimace.
So much he wants to divulge,
Words refuse to befriend.
Silence is his ally,
Though words aren’t his foe.

It is sometimes an outfit for absorption,
An at times for retrospection.
He knows that silence is golden
But is warring to find out if speech is platinum,
In these days of youth he feels like the decaying uranium.

He once spoke of far and near;
Before speaking never did he fear.
He’s not turned timid now,
But words aren’t to him dear.
He desiderates to be with friends
But refuses to let them come near,
He neither knows why the fear.

As the treacherous side of life shows its face
All he whims of is to proceed with grace.
His goal is clear but the path a mystery,
The soul in him wants to make history.

Slow but long lasting he wishes to be,
His world at every stage demands a fee.
He knows there are no free lunches,
But doesn’t know the right price
For his golden bowl of plain rice.
Whacking different ways to satisfy his famishment,
He wishes to seal for something
Which he can hang on to for longer.