Moods

Pretend to see the lights.
Wait for something
Right.
Even though
The ceiling's coming down;

Look around in spite.

Broken sets of
Rusted
Spirits lost in flight
Dying by the lot,
Made to wilt and rot
Are screaming over there

And bleeding from the hair.

Betrayal from the pair,
Imminent despair,
A ghost seen as before
Knew who was in store
For
An old fashioned,
Deadly game of
War.

It was he who held the scar:
Pitiful, bizarre--
He died in utter pain
Clutching at his heart--
A world in disarray.

Blame Shame
Innocent Excuse
For Turbulent
Demise. Goodbye.
Sigh--
Pretend to see the lies
They're bright--

Don't forget to write.

© Copyright 1999 Jason J. Loya