I remember
brighter days
when us children
would run and play.
Now we cry and say
how we wish things
didn’t have to change.

Our naivete
is like the Christmas scene
made up nativity
that Christians sing to,
praying cause
they believe
their fictions are true.

The unknown
has grown
like towering tumors
stealing our good humor
and replacing
curiosity with
**** filled fear.

Our half of the sphere
spins away,
till all luminescence
becomes some
sweet reminiscences
and each illuminated instance
becomes false foggy memories.

The night is long.
All the light is gone
so, the shadows fade
from lighter shades
to infinite
darkness.

Though, I try
I can’t fight this
tiresome
exhaustion.

So, I let sweet sleep
descend on my
heavy eyelids.