Reborn

There will be no more room in Elysium

If we fritter away our time in the shadows,

All alone in some forgotten pantry

The curvy spider spins her web of lies

And the more beautiful she is,--the colder her heart,

A necessary barter for the unforgiven and half sane

That decorate this land of the setting summer sun,

A golden cloak stained by darkened clashing

Shrouds the cursed and forsaken that wander around in throngs,

Some cast aside like lepers, lonely souls,

Still others choose isolation by choice or virtue,

These wretches no less unhappy than the noisy mob;

In the end it seldom matters where we end up

When life passes by in the blink of a summer day,

As the bitter sound of a life gone wrong

Echoes in the tangled weeds of forgotten innocence,

Severed from truth, trust, and happiness,

Long they wait to be reborn