Cliched lines,pathetic rhymes,
paper strewn floors,a broken mahogany door,
silent screams,vibrant colours mourning the grey,
blood on the hands of innocent souls,sympathy extended to the undeserving,
writer's block,a broken heart,
a series of changes and no where to start,
azure skies with cotton clouds,mighty trees and newborn leaves,
endless toil in the labourer's fate,
cries of the newborn babe as her mother dies,
remnants of broken relationships in the lovers' eyes,
madness so profound,it defies all laws of nature,
shallow love and one night stands,in dingy hotel rooms..
merciless judges and philanthropic fools,
pestilence of the damned,singing choirs in the glass cathedral,
each singer has a murky past,yet sings in praise of a God none do know,
hypocrisy,lies,lust and pride,
never ending,never ending..
but in the shadow of the dying day,
a candle burns in a small corner of a broken hut,
whispering to the shadow that engulfs it,kissing the wind that deems to silence it,
"tomorrow things will be better than they are today"
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