MAY BE FADED
And when he’s written it all
He wishes he could write
He wishes he could write
After years of pain, anger, suffering, hatred, agony...
Its vellications of joy and happiness he longs for
Its vellications of joy and happiness he longs for
After countless stares, it’s plastic smiles he longs for
After decades of solitude, it’s delusions of love, he longs for
After centuries of insanity, it’s imperfection, he longs for
After infinities of silence, it’s frailty of words, he longs for
After burials of pens, it’s that resurrection of that bar-less prison he longs for
After an era of darkness, it’s that obstruction of day he longs for
After a lifetime of strength, it’s human weakness, he longs for
After decades of solitude, it’s delusions of love, he longs for
After centuries of insanity, it’s imperfection, he longs for
After infinities of silence, it’s frailty of words, he longs for
After burials of pens, it’s that resurrection of that bar-less prison he longs for
After an era of darkness, it’s that obstruction of day he longs for
After a lifetime of strength, it’s human weakness, he longs for
He’s had his share of truths, it’s fake promises he longs for
No more eternal dreams, it’s feeble memories he longs for
No more eternal dreams, it’s feeble memories he longs for
His canvas, still, plain white, (may be faded), yet, it’s the darkness of red he longs for
No comments:
Post a Comment