The dawn of my stormy life was drawn,
on the streets of a lonely town,
pawns in a game with silence,
no response,
within the ideas that formed this gloomy glum lake,
where the bluest blue skies are shadowed in disguise,
life's most common reality,
hidden within the impostrous lies,
unfound before all their lies,
shrouded deep in the forest of bushes trees and falling leaves,
in a new season of new sadness,
into a new chapter of blinded madness,
even on the book's final page,
the story of depressing rage,
continues on to perform in thought,
yes, on the grand stage.
never to desert your mind,
solitary pain that could even hurt the blind,
haunts then taunts your remembering kind,
never to escape the unforgiving self destruction of your mind,
Nevertheless never forget to be barricated by what you have and what you get.