Days are not won
Time is not done
As it comes is as it should
All that’s done is all that could
Until tomorrow
Where life is sorrow
Let love be comfort
Something a hunter could never perceive
Seeking what comes after seeking’s reprieve
The seed of acceptance, now planted
Let its hallowed branches reach my hands
And command me
For as long as I’m standing
And as long as the phantom of suffering insists it’s candid contempt
All that’s left
Will be all that sends me into its arms
Charming it can be
But I’ve grown to see
Nothing comes without leaving
Scenes exist, and then they’re dreams
Appease yours
And implore you’re sordid, foretold, worth onto this ordered, and forsaken, world..