Hailed in the night, forgotten by day
A fear never redeemed
In the last illusions of the twilight
Of a hope left undreamed
A hand afraid to give
A life afraid to live
A place where grass does not grow
Destroyed and withered by the rain
Where the skies are domes of undying gray
In a place like this, is there only pain?
The mind is thoughts in capture
A sweet, daemonic rapture
Is the hunter the one hunted?
Or just a thought of imagination?
Is the life we live real?
Or just another fold of a permanent imagination?
The gray day, a day of pain, a day of bothers
May mean death to some, but life to others
Carried in the waves of hate
Are the glazed eyes of shame
Cowardice and surrendering to a piece of present
Makes disgrace a name
Are we dead in the night, reliving in the morrow?
In every laugh, is there a stream of sorrow?
What are the thoughts
Of a child in a womb?
Is it the feeling of a miracle?
Or the darkness of a tomb?
Is there such thing as good and evil, light and dark?
As death claims us, will people remember our mark?
Is there proof of the life that engulfs us?
Repose of an eternal slumber
Only a memory in the wind's breath
Would it rip us asunder?
Can there be hope seen through empty eyes?
Hope...an ember that fades and then dies
How would it be to be dead?
To forever leave this universe?
Would it be considered a blessing?
Or an infernal curse?
Are there really a past, present, and future too?
Some may know; it's all in a point of view