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 moons 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 much bigger and faster,

stumbling to their knees upon the very first strike;

I have seen their mockery;

the door has opened and it will never shut again,

the bright, cool stars, shine bright above,

calling for one last song,

one last mournful wail;

to awaken seeds buried deep.

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