Empty spaces filled with souls
Risen by false pretences
Offering shelter to the storm.
Worrying minds the most vulnerable
Of all catastrophes,
Affecting visionaries with regret,
The brave shrunk down
To shadows of cowardice.
When will we realise
To ignore the whispering talk
Expressed by deemed prophecies of hell
Who live to shorten life.
Thunder has rumbled
The inner soul for too long,
Time has come
To bathe and cleanse internal scars,
Dry our spirit from the rain
Hang our skin out to burn,
Because If we follow ourselves towards oblivion
Only darkness will return.