Seasons change but not my heart ... it seems always cold and rainy.

Selfishness appears a virtue ... and mine the right investment.

In many ways I know ... that people starve around me

but all I notice is ours and mine ... and what I ought to be.

Justified by Grace ... perplexing embodiment of fears

ignoring cries of the human race ... drowning in their tears.

A hole size of a crater ... where my heart used to be

as once in a while some steam escapes ... to fake me being free.

There must be some life in it ... is what folks used to say

not noticing the poison gasses ... that mix in every way.

Can death bring life to others ... can a funeral be a feast?

Are illusions so prevalent ... so that reality disappears?

With both feet in the grave ... everyone is dancing here

to the rhythm of feet stomping ... on the casket of their fears.

Knowing and perceiving ... the futile condition

and I have no power left ... to change in fruition.

Dressed for the occasion ... through the hiding of perdition

I proclaim my arrival ... faking all without submission.