Our mind shall perceive in color; not words
Like the light of judgment.
Our tongue is the destiny of a generation,
ignorant of redemption
Our blindness is but one man’s minor downfall
Our chair, the chair of thousands
Our fingers touch the crevices of despair
Yet we know not what love is
And suicide still distant from our walk.
The paint on our wall has been melting for weeks now,
Our ghost holds the answers
Of dust-filled passages
Our mind shall rip threads from this burning existence
And tie them into yours
This lamp shines no light on our pillow,
If only we could get to sleep when it’s dark
Colors we see of unforeseen enemy
Haunting our dreams, transforming nightmare into reality.