Sometime In The Night

what is left to say,

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

even simpler 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 moment passes us by,

on its way to lost foreign shores,

where mourning vessels await,

hidden among broken smiles,

cold and dark, filled with a lover’s passion,

her eyes shining like liquid night;

seen by all,

but touched by none.

.

.