In a world with less fortune,
Where challenges surpass the highest mountains,
Where hope fades into heavenly obscurity
We still work tirelessly and find a way.

In a world with wealth and peace,
Where potential surpasses the highest mountains,
Where sorrow fades into the tales of history,
We try our best to seize the day.

In a world, indifferent from our own,
Where philosophy surpasses the highest mountains,
Where issues remain in a limbo-like trance,
We enjoy our lives, everyday.

In unkempt sorrow, we often lie
with no hope ahead, we plan to die
as fear grows in strength, we suffer too
for we know not what we should do.

Hope may die in a sea of black,
but doubting its existence allows for attack,
cling to faith to fend this foe,
or else depression will be allowed to sough.

For as long as the sun may shine,
everything can change when given time.
Look to the future, and keep ambitions high
for there's no reason not to try.

The army of time marches ahead
while the nervous cling to the edges of hope;
wishing to be loved and cared for
in a future of worry;

Hands dance from number to number
while the pretentious feign having hope;
wishing to be loved and cared for
in a future of worry;

A billion clocks update with ease
while the tired let go of hope;
wishing to suffer no more for no longer
within the chasms of darkness;

The winds of change blow forever
while the dispirited admit to losing hope;
wishing to suffer no more for no longer
within the chasms of darkness.

Glasses;
so big!
With curves and crevices,
and area so majestic
like a continent never explored.

Glasses;
so revolutionary!
With voice and passion,
and struggles so deep
like a country in depression.

Glasses;
so new!
With a new page arriving,
and vision to again be clear
like a scope through the old horror.

Castigate!
Fill with hate!
Expose their views
at any rate!

Interrogate!
Segregate!
Expose their lives
at any rate!

Disintegrate!
Celebrate!
Expose your own life
at any rate!

A poet,
hopeful; on course.
Writing not for interest,
but due to force.

A writer,
worried somewhere near.
Writing not for interest,
but due to fear.

Through the walls, in the streets.
Contrasting forces in anger will meet.
Differing ideals will turn into action,
Only one will remain as a faction.