bask

Is the world fabricated from broken promises of a generation once lost?

A tuneless song of one’s own suffering to no end ?

Or could the world be made of shards of kaleidoscope glass

Shattered under the golden light of the evening sunset

Is the world built of the dying last touch of lovers hurt?

A sad tale of heartbroken affairs on a lonely eve?

Or could the world be made of curicules of violet haze

Filled with lost love reborn on a lonely summer night

Is the world nothing but the bricks of a life unlived to its potential?

A closed book of missed opportunities of retrospected thought?

Or could the world be made of magic of the minds true wants

Enveloping our world like a child lost to mother’s love

Is the world crafted on the particles of rusted silver happiness?

A sculpture of the unknown valiant and bold?

Or could the world be made from the structure of pinpoint medium

Providing its barebone support to the world’s scorned