My pen flows as I write lyrically with rhythm in my syllables,
And my heart is pouring physically as I listen for the miracles.
The stars transcend visibly in a prism wherein emotions are miscible,
And the dark descends with infamy within a schism that is pitiful.
Losing sight of the majestic light that once embraced us,
In the quaint morning bliss and the night that encased us.
The clearness of the blue skies and the trees swaying,
And when dawn rises the new skies and breeze praying.
We could hear the waves against the beach,
We could hear the flames burn when we were asleep.
We could feel the fates turn when dwelling in dreams,
We could feel the blades against our skins when we bleed.
Nothing is the same; our lives once had purpose,
And we always took our days even if we were hurting.
Everything we did for ourselves we believed was worth it,
And never realised the damage that our sentenced words did.
I want to wake up and sigh in relief that nothing has changed,
But we're not sleeping right now and there isn't a flame.
We have to face the dark days with smiles or in pain,
Whether the sun is shining or in the drought and rain.
My alarm clock isn't screeching; my mother isn't screaming,
The clouds are drifting by and the sighs of my breathing.
This is reality; not a dream or a vivid nightmare,
This is what the world has become; and now our eyes stare.