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Untitled |
The carefully censored self,
the meticulous masquerade,
droning through life unlived,
the Game lost to a charade.
Quietly holding our breath,
locking doors and putting out lights,
but in darkness it comes all the worse,
when in day we've not entered our nights.
The fire within withers slowly,
the cold creeping quick to the bone,
the lies of past dance in circles,
to slay them will leave you alone.
Darkness again fills with light,
a serpent revealing a dove,
Burn with the fire of life-
return once more to thy love!
Born again on the wings of a phoenix,
the end of a dragon's last scream,
The key and the riddle are one.
There is truth to be found in a dream.
copyright 2014
Michael
Malota |
