Windmills of the Mind

Over the days I've been, mile after mile,
Wandering over the path of exile,
Singing that songs, that are cursed for the trial,
Whispering your damned name.
Headed, survived the most terrible fail,
Still to the light of the entity. Pale,
Weak and distressed, I'm forever in scale,
Tied to self-blamable frame.

Greetings to everyone, faced on the road,
Are sent with a slight reminder of owed.
I am still writing the shrift to the Toad,
Hoping for doing the best.
Wishing a drowsiness, gained as a gift,
Praying for foolishness - happiness's lift,
Searching for truth, which enables to shift,
Locking, like cage, my thrilled chest.

Drowning in miracles, daydreams and fears,
My throat refused to swallow the tears,
Strictly forbidden in the inner spheres:
Not to let mercy break out.
But this is it, and the major it's aim:
To let you know before you start to blame
Me, crazy mind or my doubtful fame
For saying all this aloud.

                8.12.2012.
                NikA