The great voyage into dimly lit worlds,
forgetting who we are for sake of high.
Fading into the perfect tomorrow,
all you can believe is unreal.
The notion of dead feelings and saturation,
all inhibiting direction of want.
For want of a desire too hot to touch,
Too cold to breathe,
Too far away to achieve
Lacking a theme or structure,
the tower comes tumbling.
Composure then faith,
faith then desperation.
Love lost to time,
my gravest enemy.
No comments:
Post a Comment