HisSheWolf

Do you think that you are free? Well you are not free Freedom is just an illusion designed to control I ask myself why some people live their whole lives Believing every single word that they are told From the teachers who were brainwashed themselves But there is no cleanliness in our education School comes too soon with agenda fueled answers Before we have even learnt to ask the question Do you think that you are free? Well you are not free It's just the bars around your cell cannot be seen You're enslaved while ministers commit crimes so sinister And feed you thoughts directly from the machine The grinding dark forces that control the

Although I am not a wise man Let it be known that I do have the privilege to see Something that you can not The beauty of your face three-dimensionally Artists put down your brushes Your strokes can't do justice to the contours of her frame And poets put down your pen No verse could describe the light that shines behind her name Although I am not a wise man Let it be said that I do have the privilege to see Your beauty as it outruns time With each passing year in three hundred and sixty degrees Artists stop mixing your oils No colour will come close to matching the shades of her skin And poets close your note books As to describe he

I’ve never been able to follow rules   Loving what others are afraid to see Beat down and abandoned by silly fools Because it’s “too hard” for them to love me Your quiet patience, it gives you away You hesitate to be open with me You say once upon a time you were tamed But still I can see your need for release And I want to run, myself beside you Uncontrolled adventure, Let’s take a chance Together there is nothing we can’t do There is no moment that we can’t enhance Your souls meant for more than captivity Let me untame you, let me set you free

Seconds do not feel like seconds any more Minutes seem shorter than they did when I was young Years pass by without much ever happening Nothing is right but then again nothing is wrong Maybe that could be the problem That life’s slowly passing me by I walk around with my shoulders arched Like I’m afraid to even try Yes, I’m certain that’s the problem I’m too scared to stop asking why Do things come so easily to others That to me so far have been denied The air does not feel like air any more Each breath feels like it is racing my heartbeat I wonder sometimes which one will  prevail The air in my lungs or th

I see your bookcase has brought you to your knees Because there was too much beauty on its shelves The dust settled on the sleeves is the book's disease Trying to hide the story it has to tell It has grown thicker with every passing year Shipwrecked words are now beginning to sink Beneath a sea of silt silent suffering Now you finally catch a glimpse of the link Just because the book has remained unused It does not mean its beauty will diminish Just because you’ve been hiding in the shadow It does not mean that your story has finished You will crawl from the shadows to your feet Like you’re slowly evolving to upright man Homo e