The Ride

These series of events are hideous,
Having stories of history manifold.
The wonderous virtues have been dragged,
as a sillouette along the torn road.

Friends talk of failures,
Illusions and imaginations being a waste.
This ride made by emotions and intellect,
has slept within those minutes of time.
Every demon inside has risen,
to view the world through its eyes.

How can I tell a story of a helpless heart?
Of the One which wanted a direction.
Which believed that the world is a breeze,
Of wonders, nature and smiles.
That ambitions are misleading,
and it is the same,
Inside and Outside.