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Destined as the servant to the night

Where your moon dreams of the dirt and the sharp tongue of your zealous will

Is only congruent with the salt in your mouth

And the approaching eulogy of the world

Lost in the patterns of youth and the ghost of your aches comes back to haunt you

And the forging of change makes no difference

Memories fly through the mask of your life shielding you from time

The years that birthed the shell that you gained

Hunched over in apathetic grief with a disregard for steps except the one taken back

Perched up on a rope crafted in smoke

A sword wielding death that buried your hope

Focusing on light through the blinds

A slave to reality under a monarch in the sky

Lost in the patterns of youth where the windows shine brightly back at you