A swirling mass of dejections
Printed on the window in the stain
Of forgotten hands, smearing the light.
A harmful shame, pouring from the
Mouths of feckless youths,
Pushes and pulls, thrusting life from
The multitudes to the singular and back again.
Where do the crumbling masks lie?
Calmly, as they await their endless torture,
They stare blindly into the emotionless,
Forcing clarity from feared sights.
The world waits, endless in time,
Foisting all realisms from their door in
Rash, painful hopes of normality.
The end is forever second best.
-
It's been played with a little, tweaked. Still not right yet. Tell me what you think, please. ^^
