The Brighter Side

Clear indention, ever forward leaning upon the heart,
of anticipations of past circumstances,
crushing it with evil weight,
notwithstanding its worth, it slowly dies in the pile of leafes,
for all seeing will leave remorse.
Oh how long the remedy stays away,
ever reminding itself of its stray,
into the hand of the oppressor rotting to this day.
Silence behooves me, and then it is over,
forever in the mind of discontent,
then the blade wields itself in a time.
For the birth of altercations I feel with the blade,
a hope, a cry, for something to break,
into the fantasy of my imagination,
wrecking the solitude of stillness,
only again to come back to me.
Rotting decay withstanding itself for a time, and then it is over,
molding within the barriers that are placed upon,
uncovering the mesh of a tarry substance once made of honey,
for a lack of permeation of care, foolish as it is, wasting upon the unworthy
I concede happiness for the sake of disappointment only, a wisher I still am though
no matter the outlook of the word, it still remains
only to elude self, in the dance of deception in which it lives
away from the light of tenderness, compassion being the afterthought of ceasing will.