Sometime in the Night

what is left to be said

that has not already been said?

we live in a world

where quiet heroism means nothing,

ruled by those who go forth

boasting of every accomplishment,

crying out every great deed,

putting others down

that they may be lifted up,

a world where truth and effort

are no longer rewarded,

only loud-mouth trash-talking

and instant self-gratification;

we live in a world

ruled by television and play stations,

where might makes right

and ends justify means,

a make believe world

in which there is no longer room

for simple lives or

simple dreams;

we live in a world

of our own choosing,

a death within the dead,

a soft quiet whisper

among the shadows,

a hot white empty light

filled slowly and surely

by the dark innocent night;

the time is now,

even as the moment passes us by

on its way to lost foreign shores

where mourning vessels await,

hidden among broken smiles,

cold, dark and filled with contempt,

seen by all

but touched by none.

.

.