This is the poison, and this is the fear.
Here comes a feeling; it draws ever-near.
This is the sound of laughter borne from pain;
Here comes the chill smell before the rain.
Silence sits still in an ominous tableau;
Passers-by wander and wonder too late.
Thinking they’ve seen all there is to know,
There is nothing left for them to satiate.
This is the hunger, and this is the longing.
Here come some chances; these are for the willing.
This is the reverie built upon the sorrow;
Here comes the nostalgia longing for tomorrow.
Patience waits another minuscule moment;
Thoughts seem to falter at reality’s mere veil.
Getting lost or colliding in infinitesimal containment,
Something slowly fades into its original pale.
This is the valor, and this is the mirth.
Here comes a future; it has questionable worth.
This is the nature of a life lived for death;
Here comes the unwillingness of the final breath.