Born to make mistakes.

Born to make mistakes,
Each of us live our life;
Going through the emotions of the world,
We desire for a wishful sight.

The prisoner kept in the dark place,
Now yearned for the light again;
The one mistake he had made,
Was already covered with a lonely pain.

He looked out of the cell and above,
His eyes, in all directions, shone;
Slowly rusting with the sea breeze,
Was it his heart or the iron dome.

The day he wished for finally arrived,
It was no hero or a villain for rescue;
But just the usual silent breeze,
That rusted the iron, playing its part due.

The prisoner walked out slowly,
Preparing himself for what was to come;
Lifting the frail palm above his forehead,
He gasped at the sight of none.

Where was this place without a name,
He gasped even more realizing the stench;
His eyes looked around searching for life,
And the tears rolled down, Oh they still exist!

He wondered what was better or worse,
Trying to understand the situation;
Was the hope inside the prison calming,
Or the truth viewed by the eyes – none.

He smiled at the mistake that he had made,
For which he was sentenced to prison;
Am I the only survivor now and here,
Or should I too, be gone forever.

Turning around to the familiar prison,
He looked as if it were the home;
Where their was hope and peace,
Should he go back to that iron dome?

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