Ergo

A Boulevard of broken dreams.
A phrase stolen shamelessly,
from a ballad for the lonely.
Not subtle.
Not accusing.
But a true one, nevertheless.

We all walk down this boulevard
finding bits and pieces.
Bits and Pieces and Fragments.
Of dreams, Of fantasies,
Of hope, Of confidence,
Of the Heart.

Yes!
The wicked heart.
A heart which grants life...
A heart which guides life...
A heart which cajoles life,
in the amber of its warmth.

But alas!
Alas, for those souls!
Souls whom this very heart led astray.
Souls who still are trapped in the sepulchure
The sepulchure of Truth
The abyss of Perception
The labyrinth of Love

Think using your heart, they say
the hallowed heroes of yore
DO WHAT IS RIGHT!!!

Right???
RIGHT???
Right & wrong.....
Dark & Bright....
Joy & sorrow....
Black & White?
or is it
White & Black?
While the bourgeois haggles on these,
The neo-enlightened say:
NAY! Its Grey!
Grey as the moors of the north,
Grey as the skies of the havens,
Grey as life itself!

But why does the heart see no grey?
It sees only Black & White or White & Black..
through glasses, coloured rose.

Why does it lead a man into a journey?
A journey which never ends.....
A journey which abrubtly ends.....
A journey which, i am sorry, never begins.....

And think using your heart, they say...