Loneliness isn’t the loathing of sorrows or grief, it isn’t the echoes of your better memories

It’s not the inflicting harm of a drunken haze, or the black puff of a bent cigarette

Not the tears that befall the thinking past, nor the shattered glass of your broken nights

It’s the silence in the room, the buzzing emptiness that fills your mind, and seems to scream when nothing is sounding

It makes the soul more longing, and the tears more hollow

I want to see this garden flourish among these twisted days, to see the roses of white glow so sweetly in the moonlight

To look at the tulips glow when the sun rises among the pines, to see their radiant shades glow like the strains in the galaxies

To see the sunflowers rise to the highest gods, to grasp the stars and encumber them among their seeds

I wish to see this flourish, even with the flames coming close

Oh dear one, how the world has shown its fangs to you

How it has dripped venom on the satin of your joy, how it has eroded away the sunshine of your pride

It has done its best to strike you down, to eat away at the color inside your soul

But you are radiant, like the light of the winter waters, you hold the warmth of a southern spring in your smile

Take the sword that lays in your heart, and draw it with grace and pride

For you are fighter that stands to the darkness around

You are the eighth wonder of the world, you are the reason for many’s happiness

You are dear soul, you are a wonderous soul

You are you

Here is the world, under a bleeding moon, silver as the demons songs of the bamboo groves

It sings and dances the eons away, blissfully ignorant to the horrors that happen around

It has the mind of a child, it sees the world with the sun as a beacon of hope, but it only becons chaos

Here is the world, as a yawning dog in the eves of summer, awareness thin to the quagmire spinning eternally

Stuck in the membrane of the hollow limbs, inside this dead giant do I stay dormant

It was once a symbol of great honor, standing tall to the ideals of more pure angels

But now it lays in waste, the dead giant that now slumbers in the sin of it’s ignorant awareness

It sleeps in regret, and now only dreams in sorrow and what could have been

I’ll wait till the cigarette burns against tongue, then will I discard the incendiary creature

As it hums along with the silence of a silent street, soaked with rain, baptized by the gods of senselessness

Thrown among this hurricane, called the modern age, it bleeds like a sacrifice upon the alter

The denizens that seep from the shadows, strum along to a blackened howl, the mind numb in anguish

For this 21st century becomes more a fable, and less a legend

My sorrows match the colors of these streets, light melted across this rain soaked asphalt, looking for shape and purpose

The emotion that pains the skull, seems too illustrious for the somber end, only in loneliness does it play it’s trumpet

For our 21st century, is a burning alter of our pasts sins, and the gods no longer head our prayers

To be a cog on a machine breaking down, it makes the limbs weak with grief, and the stomach sick with dread

With the hesitant faith growing more fearful, the whispers of the midnight fox seem to carry, among the winds that feel dense and confused

It won’t be long this trial of stone

How it will play it’s culling song, whilst the world burns in asunder

As I take another creature, and strike it to the orange titan that wishes for flame

I’ll sit the night in my ideological sorrows, with anxiety and dread, conversing with philosophical doubt, married to low self esteem