Midnight struggles
with the first
gasp as faith
dies with the
dying moon light.

Silver becomes
the crop that mixes
with the strands of hair,
and slowly the wise
become immature as
childhood engulf the
mind.

Love dies as the
people become struggling
creatures that linger
for hope in each other.

I stand lonely like
a darkling I see
that I am not like them.

They may love and hug,
and I see the disgust
as i see God's perfect
creature only through
the diseased victims.

So I gulp the foul ichor
to drown the truth that
my cursed eyes see,
but you're still here.

12/07/2008

Posted on 12/07/2008
Copyright © 2025 Christopher Shin