Those in-between moments when the mirror is clear
are like chasing black crows in my flying dreams
with my piercing eagle eyes shining in bright haze.
I fear I am much too fond of this thing we call love
So I soar above the bitterness in this tormented world
For these are troubling times of intense sorrow.
I know tomorrow’s news will come, and so will sorrow
but the longer I live, our future becomes less clear
for there is a torrent of chaotic madness in this world.
So I will lie down on a grassy knoll, watch clouds drift by, dream
of a more peaceful earth washed in a river of pure love
not overshadowed by mankind’s stifling haze.
Once the air is thick, and we’re smothered in the haze
and the sky cries murky tears in the wake of sorrow,
the blackness of hate overcomes, drowning love.
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