Time of the Fallen

Destined to sorrow,
With no hope in tomorrow,
Luckless by birth,
Bluer than earth,
The ever afflicted boy,
Destiny’s favorite toy,
Deeply hurt,
Treated as dirt,
From misery to fear,
He shed no tear.


The world is a nasty place,
Inhabited by a stupid race.
A truth he discovered too late,
After the sealing of his fate.
He hoped to make a change,
To the world, he was so strange.
Righting wrongs is dangerous,
When most people are treacherous.
Like Don Quichotte, he failed,
He grew old and despaired.


Worn-ruin is what remains,
From the boy who dreamed to break all chains.
The boy who walked in love,
Created from clay thereof.
He grew tired of the world,
Into isolation, he sits furled,
Sick of blinded eyes,
Of lies and failed tries;
Sick of deaf ears,
Of loud jeers,
Thrown at his solo strife,
at a boy keen on wasting his life,
After a lost hope crawling,
In the time of the fallen,
With a mind shaking in worry,
With a vision dark and blurry,
His heart wails and screams,
Over remnants of dead dreams,
That lie like dead roses,
Behind a curtain that closes,
They’ll never bloom again,
nor will their petals reopen.


The bargain is struck indeed,
Between servility and greed.
As long as what’s sold is freedom and honor,
The fallen shall always raise their banner.
Anguish overflowed the boy’s heart,
His life was torn apart.
Screaming but unheard,
Saying the unspoken word,
“For the cheapest price,
Hell has defeated paradise.”

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