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Far past the twilight is a chastisement outlying the distant confusion,
concealed deep in a broken heart blazes the almighty tattered illusion.
Searching for hope in an infinite field of pain and thorn,
emphasizes the bliss of thy confusion reborn.
Within this flight of imagination, integrity is but the snake of illusory lie,
hours of the day tears stream from within, thus the happiness cry.
Diminishing beneath this fiery blaze,
are seraphs of console and sorrow�
searching for love intertwining this maze.
The splendorous sobbing of seraphs outlines an ocean, of which inquiries flow.
Relinquishing pain upon others, questions drown, hark true love�s thunderous glow.
Can we endure the storm following the elation?
Concaving the psyche�s loss further tells us love is but our creation!
I�ve journeyed through the corridor of positive depression time after time,
and only externally past these walls lay the harmonious and sincere chime.
I cannot begin to question the movement of the terrestrial sphere,
hence not far past the science lies our tranquil spear.
My fresh cavern of knowledge questions itself before,
asking if my destination is only but ashore.
�Possibly so, but that love is no where to be seen,
an inexplicable emotion I�ve never felt so serene.�
So we reflect off each other, lying upon an aspiration,
but within which we shall never discover salvation.
The graveyard of time informs me it will be mine,
and from now and eternally I shall bathe in recovery divine.