What is it all really
The slipping time that grips to my dying breathe
Faded in a transit lie
Like all among the heavens and beneath it
Forgotten tears and lonesome memories
Are not so painful any more,
More so pitiful if not anything else
For daily do I forget who I am
Yet what sits true, in this be stilled tragedy, is that I care not to remember
Whereas, who knows the voices of those once loved
Or of the beloved image that had belonged to the eternal moon
I can say honestly that I do not
Because like the sun my thoughts are bound to an everlasting eclipse
Therefore, I stand in void to this lackluster shine
Franticly lost towards the madness that elopes with my rigid mind
And with an ill fated irony I mind not
Thus a sky blue crisis if ever there was one
Furthermore, among the constellation that of twelve
The daybreak that sinks in darkness
A madman stares hysterically while raging against the inevitable
Still…
Of all the stars that could’ve shined
Only one may know
Why the virgin is adorned by the eyes of the ram
And why this forsaken star was cursed to cross a forbidden night sky
~ Paradise Poet ~
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