They stare out the window hoping to see the mist of tomorrow’s past
But regrettably nothing is ever clear from a rose colored window
All they could ever hope to see is the caviler of the lost symbol
As they drift away into oblivion, no one will ever know they existed
The sad truth is no one will even care
for they didn’t make it this far without surrendering a few heartfelt punches
They stare out the window hoping to catch a glimpse of a perfect tomorrow
But do they know that such hopefulness never ceases to disappoint
The story of a lost symbol burns deep in their memories
for they understand that’s the sum of their lives
They too will end up as nothing but a lost mark
forgotten to the world but never to the ones they destroyed
Do they know that they would kill to see them again, do they even care?
When the darkness surrounds you
all you can do to keep yourself from screaming is pray
But who are they praying to/ is he listening?
Would such a high power even care enough to hear their prayers?
Would he understand their choices? Would anyone?
They stare out the window hoping the green light will emerge
it would be the global symbol of hope
but do they know that hope breeds eternal misery?
Forever waiting by the window for the knight in shining amour’s arrival
but gladiators are a thing of the past
which is where they’re choked up to as far as the world is concerned
To the world their only existence is through bonfire stories
telling tales of far unknown worlds, telling victories over unknown foes
But do they know?
That they will never be anything more than a memory
a past time that symbolizes unyielding faith and unbearable melancholy
Haunted by the bloodshed they should know it will never stop
Ghosts at every corner pester them
demanding justice from their perpetrators but forever remaining in the shadows
for fear of being chastised
Ghosts of a far gone life they never wish to relive
These are the ghosts of men and women alike from all spheres of life
They sit tight waiting for a day when it all goes to hell
But what’s hell compared to the catastrophic impact of their actions
Do they know?
The concierge comes by in the cold Birmingham ship
the lives of lost souls float above the water
hoping to someday tell their story
The current flows in different directions
the souls of men long since drowned by them sing like angels
for a story that is yet to be told
They drift between worlds
waiting for a veil to lift up and let them see the light of a new dawn
They stay put hoping that soon enough people will listen to what they have to say
But the deep ocean keeps them trapped
the deep blue darkness outweighs their forces
will sailors eventually hear their cries? Will they tell their stories?
updated by @grace: 07/05/17 09:36:04PM