Storytellers

The colors seem to brighten and fill the voids
Are my senses rising for the first time?
Is this an awakening?
Perhaps it’s just a line of thinking
That a fallen leaf has blown upon
A slave to the seasonal wheel,
Would I change it if I could?

A departed, lifeless love
Belly up, hell is shut
Beneath the crimson hood, a lying secret
Whispering in my ear, I want to pull away
but he takes hold:
“You make such a fuss over where you are,
When you should focus upon
The conflict you find yourself inside.”
Turning, trembling, does the meaning stand gleaming?

Light is dimming
I stand with my back to the sun
No, you can’t make me watch another leave
If you must go then go just don’t
Please don’t make me watch…

Reach inside, shake and shatter the reasons
This seeking creating brain is a blessing
but hell, what a burden

…Were they torn apart after I left?
The events false, a creation, imaginary
but do I actually believe that?
Should I just shove it all aside
because it wasn’t “real life”?
Who am I to define what is real and what is not?
Dreams are my own creation but a different part of me
So I can’t bring myself to define or destroy
If creation paves the way for destruction
Then why is one easier for me than the other?
There’s enough destruction
I am not capable of falling in line
but falling for a lie, that is another story…

Thoughts?

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