Far behind the veil of Truth,

Innocence feeds the fragile youth.

They cannot see the stare of uncertainty,

Lidless and unliving.

Nor hear the scream of drowning dreams,

Sunk by drought of prosperity.

We stab the silence with our sighs,

And the vein of pain bleeds black.

So, drunk from darkness, we lie

In quiet ‘til light bedews our backs.

But whilst I’m a slave to peace in sleep,

When the ceiling becomes my sky,

The ties of truth b r e a k and un-loose,

And no longer is it my guide.

Shadows satisfy fear no more,

And those foolish rich are pitied by poor.

But these ideas are mere threads of hair,

Grey and dead on the head of despair,

And I wonder if panes of certainty shatter,

And if floods of thought will swell

The sunken stream.

I doubt it, but I can still dream.