faint voices
caused by the exaggerating colors
we remain afar
rhetorically living with the past
it has gone too tight
we can not let go

metaphorically or ironically
we are walking on shards of glasses
our sense of logic is fading
just like our companions
they promised loyalty
we returned the favor
consequently we receive nothing

frowns and upside downs
we have them
predictions and probabilities
they are not accurate
we depend on them
why is that?

nothing makes sense
we are all clouds
surrounded by an ocean
of unfinished priorities
cheerful conclusions
can not be guaranteed
as we are after all
imperfectly different
hoping to hear of
the victorious bell