grey.

I imagine the sky’d turn grey
when the stars stop shining,
making way for clouds to shift and,
far rains to find their pace,
and start aligning as our sins beckon floods to fall.

convinced of the false nature of failure –
we poison the water to make way for more grey,
to carry the weight of our feet and,
metal beasts we forged in fire.

no more green below blue,
when we extinguish the sun,
and never enough sorrow in our voices
as we say sorry to a son,
or daughter who’s futures we warp in recent history –

fault, and blame, remain no mystery. .

she sent us signs from the sky and sea,
but never enough –
our condition demands from our ashes we burn more,
justified by the word of man and written to law.

to rape the earth –
a right given in irony by intelligence,
despite our failure to sail the sea
without painting her black,
and choking her skin into submission
to fuel out feast.

in pain, she would scream,
only for us to pull her further apart,
until tears turned to blood –
only to gratify our need to pierce the sky with fire –
man must escape the sky and push higher,
for our needs deem green is not enough.

our mark is made in grey,
and should we fall from grace
thank god we have our faith.
but no more, no long shall we set sail,
waves will rise and from our ships we bail,
to fall beneath the sea and see our children drown –

our sins filling their mouths
as the water embarks upon the land,
with a soft sound to beckon death before her,
for we must all choke on our sins,
and claim our advances,

for we had our chance at second chances.

one by one,
extinguished is each star,
what were beckons of hope now fall –
through the sky, flames from afar,
we will watch in horror as it rains war upon us,
and when the deserts turn to glass,
our sands shall remain no more.

and we will know fear,
as the sky swallows the sea –
no more blue no green.
like the smoke that rose from our towers,
now our skies are grey,
colour burns and our world is washed away –

what we have made is drained,
and before us lain,
and now our future is made
too late –
our skies forever grey.

dolor

pain
or so it stands,
is the mark of men, fallen
or yet to fall from grace.
soon from inception,
pain left man the gift of death,
to mark paths within his face,
once uncharted.

a single tear exempt from joy,
may burn a thousand bridges,
and bring about the division of hope,
and drain with it,
all memories gilded with gold.

though void of love,
pain will feel no mercy in chase
of claiming hearts,
and in the torment of souls
his salvation will be seeded.

pain, remains
both the flame and coals on which it finds its fuel,
within –

and without.

pain has us,
in motionless movement, and a silence
only broken by the screams –
that are many in our minds.

a burden of the mind,
a physical fear hidden from sight,
a test of strength that buckles the might of men,
pain lives to break and divide.

pain,

will come to claim the world –
void of prejudice and without judgement,
and all will fall to their knees and beg
that the sun may shine once more,
before the night is over.