I received an inscrutable epiphany of tomorrow’s tragedy.
This revelation in perception of the adversaries.
Death, like medicine to the weak; it’s panacea.
Sorrow and pain, the songs of the musicians of tomorrow.
Good was futile, evil prevails all round.
Days were nights as the light seized to shine or blink.
Pain, the motto driven by the ones who dominate.
Erstwhile, life was beautiful as stars were its eyes.
Now darkness rides it horses in the minds of the young.
An elixir for continuous suffering was made in our hearts.
Therefore, even in the face of light, darkness ironically gleams.
The light is obscure to our heart as it silently beats.
We fear to breath, even the thought of life is gone.
Listen, the heart skips a beat.
Red, the sky’s at day.
A reluctant shade from darkness it is at night.
Still sweet sorrow tastes most satisfying.
Pain plus anger; equals the direction your flashy heart drives to.
Erstwhile, death is first on our requests.
By Omale Rex
From: A SAD JOKE TO LAUGH ABOUT
THE SAD GALLERY 