All who attempt to
Behold the wondrous works
Of the ancient wielders of pathos
Are to wait until eternal rest comes upon them
For you drag their dreams into the pit of eternal unrest.
As they see the bringer of death
In the eyes of
The one whom they once called friend,
To create magnificence
Out of the shades of yin and yang
That invariably fall out of view.
Within the protected expanses of their cognitive refuge,
Their torturous screams cannot be heard,
For they wear a mask that displays confidence
And disguises their fear that is suppressed deep within.