They’re back.
   Returning like the sun
      To the horizon by morning,
         A genuine gold crown
            In place of a shadowy
               Silver mask; equally as
                  Blinding as the yellow sky,
                     But covering a face
                        Concealed by lies
                           And grand performances.
                              A sickness of sadness
                                 Overwritten by a new
                                    Plague of shining smiles
                                       And voluntary sleeplessness,
                                          Symptoms evocative of the lost
                                             Thoughts rematerializing within
                                                The great oceans of my mind.
                                                   An already accepted fate
                                                      In bold prophetic writing,
                                                         Burned pages at a time and
                                                            Rewritten in a language
                                                               Of crystalline passion.
                                                                  My will has returned.