Hidden amist this fog so thick,
a broken being frail and weak.
With a timorous voice so meak,
it's a life that no man ever seeks.
Faint imageries of a perfect play,
all echoing the brighter yesterday.
What remains of those cheeky ways,
only a blackhole absorbing all the rays.
The deeper the sorrow engrained,
the more joy a being can contain.
But is that not mere derision,
of life's tear-filled depression?
Happiness is a choice you can decide to be,
that blesses man with joyful eternity.
But is that not just an irony,
after pulling through grief and agony?
Stare at haven's changing display,
conflict and harmony is portrayed.
Look into the papers every day,
even Mother Earth often breaks and frays!
The alluring aromas of life's greatest joy,
only a mark of a foolish puppet toy.
Under the forward-looking decoy,
harbinger of a beter day begins to stray.