To the waste land, we tread,
Following the presumptions of unanswered questions.

Rattling the pillars of a gazebo,
Where denial peacefully lies.

Through the glass,
We can no longer communicate, lacking all forms of expression.

Auditions for a silent play,
A fog settles over the redeemed skies.

Gasoline drenches the path,
Where we follow that one cancerous emotion.

And soon the infection is declared,
Images stripped back to their negative film.

The growls of hungry wolves,
Were only the surfacing clones of confusion.

But in the colors of dawn,
Everything was heightened, after a night so grim.


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