Through pores of tired skin,
Of red hours of morning sunrise.
And inefficient light,
Only to be reborn again.
Ripping apart the harmonious silence
Of lush green.
Among the wrinkled earth,
In a patch of green
That’s almost obsolete
In this jungle of concrete.
We weave the tales, and rationalize,
And all the evil,
We all tread the hero’s path,
And yet we fall from the,
Cliff of light.
We sympathize, trotting through,
The overflowing river,
Holding a candle of ignorance.
None of us true to illumination,
We preach the lessons of light.
And then we rationalize,
And we weave the tales of divinity,
And by little pieces, we stitch,
The romantic river of heaven.
A river on the bedrock,
Of broken stones of humanity.
With all the madness in my soul,
And obsessed with selfless thoughts,
Rising from the ashes of the day of
Drifting like another faceless ghost,
Or maybe slice through,
The fog of the previous night.