With our souls aching in strain,
and our hearts drastically drained.
I feel nothing but disillusion,
in my search for a conclusion.
If tears could stain,
I would look to the rain.
In hopes that you won’t see the pain,
that pulses through my veins.
As I untangle the chain,
wrapped inside my brain.
I hope you find a way,
to wash away your disdain.

Desolation and despair,
the scent of blood in the air.
These are things that I know well,
like the fires that burn in Hell.
In a world without vision,
we are destined for collision.
If I must shout then I’ll scream,
I’ll do whatever by any means.
Know that they’ll be frightened,
if we ever become enlightened.

I lay here as I wither away,
It turns out the world is pretty grey.
As time goes by I can’t help but wonder,
Is it true that lighting always follows thunder?

I heard my mind yell as loud as it could,
It shook up my head so I’m not feeling good.
As time goes by I can’t help but wonder...

I’ll apologize solemnly if you let me,
this pain in my chest really upsets me.
I continue to make emends,
in hopes you’ll forgive me.
At this rate we know you’ll outlive me,
a lot of my past memories feel like regrets.
I’m sorry,
this pain in my chest really upsets me.

Your words are Art.
Like the birds, are Art.
Home is with you.

At first it was subtle and although no one else cared, I felt your presence and knew you were there.

Sooner than later I found my mind impaired, looking for options that would hopefully repair.

My mistakes would soon pile up and an uneasy sense of guilt along with them.

Once lovable and full of tranquility, now unapproachable and lacking emotional stability.

The gaze of a mother seems distant but fierce,
the heart lies open, withered and pierced.
Our minds diverged, yet our eyes the same,
who else is there, but I to blame.
If only we could revert back to the light,
for that would be a wondrous sight.

It is when the river calls,
that the mountains crumble.
In the halls of the scattered mind,
the desolate man stumbles.
Through the doorway of shattered hopes,
the grim figure interlopes.
For not even time can tell,
when such a man will climb from hell.

Watch now as the clock finds its pace,
the creatures yearn to be laid to waste,
atop a leaf up so high,
we lurk where reapers lie,
for is it not who but why,
the truth of how brave men cry.