We all once hid a smile beneath our eyes.
Yet looking around, all I spy are scars.
From the pockmarked faces of beggars at my feet
to the curated sculpt of suits storming down the streets.
One common thread remains in the young and in the old.
They surface only pain, and burn it in the cold.
But why would a child offer such a distant stare?
I cannot understand, what demons must he hide?
If all good men are wicked, then perhaps I'm better blind.
It offers a dull anxiety, a decay of all that's good.
My candle wax is dripping, my clock has come unwound.
But still I shuffle on, still I wander past the veil of gloom .
I hold these moments dearly, let them imprint in my mind.
Despite the pain, despite the doom, one thing holds true.
I have my love, I have my life, and that will see me through.