Loom like nightmares before me.
Smokey songs of innocence rise
Captured by affluent prayers
And contagious spite.
What exacting promises are made?
To be ever vigilant?
To be trusted beyond worth?
On to night, sensing fear, hatred, death.
Such artless mirth brings destruction.
Silence adheres itself to the intangible.
Being and essence end here,
Not with conformity and worth,
But with desire and truth.
