The Battles Of A Bad Day's Night

If instinct could alert beforehand; Reflecting moments as all stand... The ought process of echoing mind, For rights to get wrongs tightly bind- Assign each voice unto confident tears, Without been paired with fearful glares. That, would make a day so bleak off sorrow, And elegant enough to seek anew cum morrow. If patience could read through broken glass... Flexing with a system depicted 'separate class' That wants eyes to angerily view patience broken, Just to steer up choler; a muted but flaming token Which once activatd, consumes the rationally pierced soul Ought to be veiled intensely for light to be made whole. If peace could silent memorable pains, Of a bad day's night battles off stains... Eyes and dreams won't be easily drifted apart Like storming mind wreck drowning heart... And wonder if lonely night of each bad day could come alive Before dawn without partying, yet make sound sleep thrive.