~ Crying in the Darkness ~
Dark times ahead,
Of everyone in the world lies,
But those who have magic,
Give to this evil spirit.
They lift up their wands of red flame,
Which tremble beneath the fire,
That shoots straight from the owners,
To cover the wand,
Right out their hearts.
Although their hearts are bleeding,
The wands of magic from their fiery breasts,
Tremble with passion, and fire, and zeal-
No one can stop the arcs of shooting red,
As they roar to life,
And our eyes look upon the dead ones,
Gentle children that haven’t visited,
Where they still need to go,
Their future plans,
Christmas gifts,
The dreams in their breasts and their own brochures,
Of lands that are forgotten,
Never to be trod on by pattering feet,
And tiny toes-
Or lost hair ribbons from bobbing pigtails,
While the passion arcs now twist about,
In the form of linking hands,
And people praying,
And singing,
Hoping for a better way.
The future,
Holds nothing much,
But betwixt the magic in our breast,
We are able to move on,
For thankfully we shed a tear,
During a ripping crisis,
That brings a certain magic,
A certain song and movement . . .
To every single person.
We who grieve,
Who are grieving in ripping howls,
Are comforted,
By the ability to cry,
To sing and to pray,
On this cold, terribly biting winter’s night-
When all should be at rest,
But are instead-
Walking dead people.
May God be with the souls on this terrible night,
That has shed cruelty upon them,
And may the magic that we share,
Be our guide,
And the tear our song,
That will forever send out,
The message-
Of love.
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