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Mitchell Thompson's blog

 

The Pain of Sleep

An age of golden potential
dyed its life a lively red
and grew to its hearts desire
in all different directions.

It held the memories - times
now past – and held them close;
trying to find an answer; to
try and use to push forward.

Never did one eye of millions
ever look the other way and
so this age; this civilisation
fell before its knees in prayer.

In the afterlife; in hindsight;
they see their mistake as clear
as day and come back down
to earth on bloody wings.

They whisper in our ears of
all the dreams of finding it;
that special something we all
want to find, but postpone.

The words they cry; everyday
that we go home sad and hear;
eat away at our souls and never
can we live; in ignorant bliss.

Always aware of our desires;
always aware of our nostalgia;
no way to shake; no way to kill;
And forever empty we die inside.
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