Our destinies are hemmed in within the clefts of our imaginations;
Fate entrapped within our labors of all that remains undone,
but then veiled is the crude reality that sears underneath our ingenuous faces,
For we have become all we are, we've become everything and we are nothing!
We are the living dead of this black world;
Its byzantine to be honest with our muddled selves...
for at our best we still fail to beat life's test,
even good is no longer good enough,
but someday fair and peacefully time shall let us rest.
We are the besieged souls and foster children of an ethereal loom;
The fruitions of trees that never bloom...
We are too alone to die yet too soon to be
And we've become all we are; the living dead!
We've been betrayed by time to deny our suffrages by day,
faith unfaithful kept us falsely true...
but one day all shall be gone for glory and for good.
And we shall thwart the possibilities of dying or living by a rood,
For who we seek is the God of all gods!
The God of the living and of the dead.
Author notes***-As much as there is life and there is death, some souls can be trapped
within, this souls are not dead and they are not living. this poem is about such souls.