Suffering in your mind resembles a kingdom in distress
Where the king has but a cursed magician for an advisor
Who would by any sly means possible enforce dominion over his mind
To get him to wake up to his senses
To operate from his ruling authority of virtue
He needs to go to war
With his own mind
Blood. Must be shed.
Crawling into the comforts of your every day
Quaintly terrorizing every step of its way
Howling and screaming, robbing you of certainity
Hope dwindles as the skies fade gray
Oh, if only the dear fear of failure would show its face
As the days they grow rather grey and lonely
There is but a distant memory of the suns embrace
Stumbling through remnants of a forgotten trail
Feet, grow cold and weaker every step along the way
Distraught of the sound of shimmering leaves
Trees, they stand naked
Embracing their sweetest dreams
Perhaps, you weren’t supposed to be awake
Spring, it awaits.