Tragedy
The loss of what could have been
Like northen lights no longer seen.
The faint tune of a mocking bird
Fading fast, hear not a word.
Only the scilence creeping in
Surrouning you from within.
Is thier purpose in fighting?
Even the stuborn get tired of biting.
Looking for someway to disappear
Whilst trying so hard to hide the fear.
A hundred ploaces I'd rather be
But at heart, longing to be free.
