like the overly used hands of time.
Condemned to bring endless turmoil,
with every passing hour.
Circle around my head so fleetingly,
that even my conscience (dripped dry of remorse)
repeats my loudest faults...
My remorse (now audibly sound enough for even the smallest heart to hear), cries out to me pounding upon the guild of hate I've armored my heart with, begging me to forgive.
But soon enough it gives up and turns back "an aching whisper".
I guard myself with steel pride and arrogance.
And yet I wonder;
"Why my fortitude of endless faith
do you fail me yet again..."
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