Member Rara Avis
Spoken softly, the cessation of reality occurs.
Brought on by unimaginable stress,
Echoes of laughter ring vibrantly through the clear night,
repeated by millions,
braved only by a few.
A road to insanity,
paved with gales of breathless wonder.
Prone to incalculable excess-
always, more and more.
A focal point for immoral scrutiny,
it is abused,
wasted in a half-hearted manner.
Those who do not dream,
steal a prize not theirs...
Then discard it like an old lover,
never to discover the
that could be.
Purpose denied, dementia sinks
into a fathomless void
(I'm sorry most of my poetry seems so dark and depressing, but so you know, it's just the balance to my disgustingly sick sense of optomistic buoyancy!)
Shoot for the moon. Even if you miss, you'll be among the stars.
So let the sun beat down upon my face,
It's warmth will dry my tears.