Mockery

imperfection in an imperfect world;

is it really so surprising?

midnight’s cold, cool, darkness approaches,

smelling of sweet familiarity,

gently caressing the summer moon’s face

with tears of lost memories

and forgotten innocence;

Yes, I have seen their mockery,

I have felt the morbid

fearful lunacy,

it becomes too great a burden

at times like these,

yet somehow it passes,

moving on to victims bigger and faster,

who stumble to their knees

upon the very first strike;

I have seen their mockery;

the door opens and will

never shut again,

even if you wanted it too,

the bright, cool, stars

shine bright above,

calling for one last song;

one last mournful wail.

.

.