A Sob For Truth

The world is dying, yet the quietness develops, As shadows shroud the cries underneath the stone. Where when we discussed harmony, presently nobody knows, The reverberations suffocated by voices, lost and solitary. Underneath the heaviness of despots' iron hands, The earth is bound in chains of delicate falsehoods. We long for broken skies and brilliant sands, However all we find are debris and empty cries. The ink that once brought light presently stains the page, No section can lift the distress from the spirit. For words are just residue in this dim age, A short lived flash, consumed by unending cost. What's more, however we shout, the world remaining parts unhearing — A story of truth, perpetually vanishing.