My soul is tortured;
taught sure of many men's misfortune.
Black gods of the minds
who portrayed them,
And at times;
their faith given a Judas kiss that betrayed them.

In every awe of today;
tis the wonder of a tomorrow.
As in the outcomes shock;
is a lose of power.

To then live on,
at times is a game of chance.
All will watch every eggshell step,
but are forced into Death's little dance.

Life is but what looking glass
you view it as,
But it all cracks in time;
losing it's colour like winter's grass.

Whether to land on your feet,
or bend on your knees;
Only you of your heart,
knows your life's needs.