Even bold hearts lose courage in the dark,

Every little flame gets snuffed with time,

The law can't point the finger for that crime.

The scared men try to put out the last spark;

Then they could hide, in the night be the shark,

Pretend they've not lost the strength of their prime.

In the little flame's light you see their grime,

So to blacken that flame's light is their mark.

Too many minds overtaken by fear,

Too many block out the deafening cries,

Dreading the past wars or those yet to dawn.

Rare is the one who's vision remains clear,

Few have the notion to open their eyes,

Fewer still have the will to carry on.

Author's Note

This one's a Petrarchan sonnet, hence the crazy rhyme scheme. I personally like the last stanze the best. Kind of sums up the whole poem. Raises the question; if you were one of the rare people who sees life for what it is, would you be able to keep going?