A new day begins when the old has died
buried beneath a mound of rotting tongues.
Propeled forward by the winds of hope
The sun shines brightly in awaiting the horizon.
The west can't see it
The death of the day that was
we mourn for her in pathetic weakness.
Not yesterday, not tomorrow but today
we mourn for that which was
and that which will never be.
Hope springs forward on golden rays
just edging ever so close
To the point to where it is visible at last
then it dies like just like the past.
To see the day, a living day, to truly see that day
is a hope that someday will turn to truth
and may someday shine brightly in these darkened eyes.
