Words are forgotten
Actions are remembered
Hence why the most change
Comes after disaster

I weep for humanity
The pain
The sorrow
The heartbreak
The bloodshed
Cold realities
Unearthed from years of living
I wish, one day, we could no longer suffer
But, to live is to suffer
And to suffer is to live

When you meet for the last time
No one knows
It will be the final one

Some are introduced
To revenge
Then, are they not an eponymous fool?
By war or vendetta
Brothers
Sister
By blood or tree
...
Revenge cares not for thee

Separation
Often cares for the object
Of pain and nostalgia

Behind that splendid plain
Ice, piled high
A midnight sun, resting on top
Like a silhouetted candle
It may be cold
But it has never been so inviting.

Looming over objects
Coming into view
It was once buried deep
And dies once referred to
But today, it was found
Unearthed near a shallow basin
What is it?
A secret.