Blissful Hell

There is an entanglement of messes,

They are piling up, and don’t seem to lessen.

It would be a waste of sand and guesses,

Not even staring at the sky, when the moon is crescent,

Would yield any answers, since some live in the present,

In a world that’s broken, and full of sentiment,

Well, nobody said anything would ever be pleasant,

But that’s also the reason some live, while staying hesitant.

 

Never pushing the button, staying in their own cell,

Silently screaming, too swollen to even yell,

So, the suffering stays hidden, inside a shell,

Painful expressions masked and painted well.

 

Through blinded ignorance, everything seems swell,

Even if minds are stuck deep inside a well,

With no light to guide, but where? After all this is a jail,

Self-created and without a system to bail.

 

Originally as a means for which to sail,

Freely through unique vastly expanding trails,

But due to fear of the unknown, and lies of tales,

rooted down it was on strict system of rails,

That lead nowhere, but exhaustion until pale,

 

Under a fog of dreams, convenient lies for sale,

Meant to fully disguise the devil that hides his tail,

And the fact that life is but a railed prison boat without keys nor veil.

Guess if ignorance is bliss, as the old man used to tell,

then I guess all these must be bliss in hell.

 

By: Jan M. Ramos

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