Patience, the virtue lost,
Sterility of the soul,
Weights heavy on the broken head.
On the eyes that witness,
The joy I can not possess.
As anger proves the hunger,
The fertile fire that roars,
My mind remains blinded,
By the future that was lost.
Fear as a state of mind,
Ruins the hope of many,
As the ember of rage sparks
The wet day of tears.
There, without a cloud in the sky,
My face is rushed with water,
Drowning,
In the sorrow of the reminded failure.
In the city of dusk,
Where our dreams perish and wither,
Possibility of a better tomorrow does not exist.
Welcome one, Welcome all,
To the hell of your own making.
Read the sign, as you walk the door,
Here your dreams lie, here hope is no more.
The Word Den 