Too Good of a Poem For a Title

I awake, I awake in a morning, afternoon sunset My eyes sting as they stretch for the soul. With cheerful music of a funeral, which plays afar in a dfferent room, in a different world than the one I live in and slowly die in. The mind is trapped in a white bone cage, and cries out for a warm embrace, yet sees the twilight of a moonless night haunt him in his nightmares he shares with me, and I sit and stare, thinking. Caring cries slowly shed tears down a rough cheek, yet no one sees a tear, No one sees a man, But a boy whose heart is a frown, whose awaken to a quiet house, in a quiet town, in a quiet world. Silent as a burial, which the dead come too pay their respects. I awake, I awake to an evening sunset searching the heart for the words blind and foolish in the so-called Cruel World, where your blue eyed Death smiles, and morning sunsets dissappear with no remorse, and paint my soul black, like cancer, or like a tared road, which the feet of morning commuters step one foot, in front of other. STOMP! STOMP!! STOMP!!! Like SS Stormtropper's boots that stomp all over my Heart. Till the evening sunrise comes, and I awake, I awake to a snarl of a beast and the tolls of funeral bells. -10-27-2013-