Poem -

Habits

Habits

They will smile and look into your eyes
They’ll avoid the truth,
and you will believe in their lies,
Where the path to hell runs smooth.

Our habits are a bit of a riddle,  
A checkered course, no reason to cry
And become emotionally unstable,
The things they convey are hard to die.

We see them afterward on reflection,
They paint a smile with different colors.
Opening and cutting through wisdom,
Swallow up virtues held with powers.

When the noose holds us by our neck
If in those seconds we had thought twice,
Maybe the mind would have no time to reflect
On the shame brought by such a small price.

At least some virtues may remain,
with tears from the eyes, we bled,
A bit of dull pain dangling with shame,
Regret some of the things once said.
 

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