A cry,

a whisper,

a pained hysteria,

products of your device.



Dark and twisted, grey.

the many shades to my Joy.

This is just the beginning of your age old ploy

to break this spirit

and walk away

you smiled to my pain

and often I look upon the falling leaves of my faith

and I see you all around

walk on

walk over me again.

I will not fight it now.


His eyes could smile and see not,

he spoke to the silhouette of a sound

and the darkness was not reality,

a delusion of his thinking ground.