Panacea

    

At times,

                                                            

Its so much  

Easier to reach out.
Shed all defences.
All false attempts at a fake vanity.
That proves inadequate a sheath.
At times,
Its so much easier,
To just let go.
Exfoliate.
Let it out.
Yet the pent up,
Finds no panacea.
Torn in its clutches,
It may cry for freedom.
But chooses to crush against,
Its own shackles.
Faith seems,
The hardest path,
To walk straight in.
The desired end,
Seems tantalizingly elusive then.
A test of grit,
Versus Time,
Deludes,
The sense of freedom thus.
Progressive,
Yet archaic,
The mind wanders,
In its meandering path.
Far from all.
It seeks isolation,
For its own completion.