Passion is so familiar I breathe it.
It underlines every aspect of my expression
now suddenly, I find it pushed off
I suppose it was lost among shadows
cast by my strained thoughts
I was scrutinized. So I kissed away the desperation
The perseverance. the effort.
I remain calm amongst the shelter
but not serene
the effort is gone
It was buried. Sometime between war and interrogation
It's the hostility that kills me
In fact... it made me weak, but I was murdered
by the wrongful, spiteful words of a bitter being
It is believed that harsh storms bring forth
meek skies and kindhearted spring breezes...
only, naturally, there's nothing but a dull grey ceiling
and sullen, drown grass.
The air still whirls around... a faint scent of catastrophe, of chaos.
the atmosphere was once bleeding and the streets were once flooded
then, you're left standing within tragedy.
Where do you step? Where do you look or put your words?
The air doesn't hug you like it used to
you're not caressed by the warm hearth of the sun
... you don't know where to go.
so you're lost, still unsure of where you're going
as if you ever knew.
only, now, you're burdened by the fragile eyes of your witnesses.