Every
pillar shattered, to ruin souls, stranded in a forest. I
searched
a maze, to find an exit, to mourn goodbyes. It was
once
such beauty, where demons wailed, against
something
short-term. So many footprints, to paint a
psyche,
fervent for peace; but such is myth, worlds of
animosity,
churning minds. We lived oblivious, founded
upon
lies, expecting something golden. What was our
curse,
a repeated cycle, to reach for hell?
I
tremble to ponder, a gesture so tender, where daylight
breathes.
It’s roughly a miracle, a dreamlike state, to calm
a
storm; for pains are fuming, a torn aroma, to whisper, “I
loved
you.”
What
is life, a pyramid of joys, to nurture wounds? If ever
present,
something’s askew, a web of monsters; but I speak
to
brick, praying through anguish, to want for peace. Else
a
terror, a phantom’s sickness, eating at one’s lining.
So
we live, burdened by reality, a steaming fire. Life is
different
this way, a rift in many areas. I pitch a few words,
to
free a few wounds, to soothe a few scars; but brick is
sturdy,
where hell is painted, a nightmare stippled.
