Those thousand moments of pain and dread, Those thousand withered wings approaching to perish. Those endless skies where torn feathers flooded.
To the heart which suffered the pull of many strings. To those rivers and lakes that have dried up. To those shadows who refuse to leave your side. To those hopes and dreams dissipating, like waves crashing into the shores.
To bear a broken heart and smile. To bear a wound in your chest and walk. To that love that was murdered, by selfishness and betrayal.
I buried and reburied those corpsed emotions. But they break open their graves and walk into the lands like zombies. I slashed and cuffed them back to the ground. Heavens break upon and show understanding, Yet their glistening bones gleam and mock me.
To those seven out there for their victory, each time I fail, they hail their statement. I plant my seeds to new beginning and hope in many places. But they refuse to grow; even the weed doesn't grow.
Is it wrong to hope? To believe? Is it illogical? Or is it unethical? Now the question arises, are these lands barren?