The Dream
Agonising beauty graces the faces
Darker than the abis of my forgotton soul
Hope glorifies the damned as glory damned them
Each of us were born and raised ready to die a disgraceful yet honourable death that will soon be emerged into the masses of our demise.
Somebody tells the truth and somebody lives a lie, the story is in their eyes.
Those vicious streets are flooded with our blood as we drown in the angst and vile torment that they call glory.
Standing in the light shadowing your misty dream, reminding you that reveries don’t come true.
The honour of death is forgotten in the glorious war that is shouted from the rooftops, deafening the dead.
Copyright © Stacey Brackley | Year Posted 2012
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