The Dark Passenger

From far seen thoughts in broken eyes,
will ever for seen the truth of your sacking hand lying still in wishes of lost days.
if your world is not my playing field
the agony urge will never sees,
will never,
can never,
will it ever?
on darken days as shining can not rip my faith,
but tangles my belief in what is true and if it is real,
or just a lesson learned long years
and by flashes of lost light forgotten.
the signing silver on red lace my only comforter,
darkens my only friend,
and fear that will never have any of my disbelief of what i am or what i want.
will it take?
and if taken is done
who shall for fill or replace?
or place that what cannot be filled or replaced.
broken life's of hard shape ends
never willing to do or change or feel of watt is to be said
but cannot be revealed.
i am and there for i do and no quick stroke or the slit of the tongue will that change that
as all out fiats are in destanys book written'
which was not even written by her self.
from earth to life that leaves a foul taste in blocked out mouths,
is this truly a belong that we urge?
or a soothing shine of that what floes from my veins to relief me
from thees dreams that will never have
and o so deserving.
if this is then a metamorphose of what is
or would have begone or have never provoked,
leave then with darken eyes,
a closed window to the tongue that has never spoken
then i and my 3 unnamed friends
will dwell for ever
with out revelling
but always in comfort
in Trinity of
what
is
me