Recrudescence
For another night, I tried writing stories again.
Below the evening light, I hold upon my worn out pen.
Within a hoary place, that used to be filled with magic.
In life's unending race, now all I feel is homesick.
Glancing upon the night sky, countlessly I ask for answers.
The intent of a fool's lies, handwritten in a pile of papers.
Started scrawling again, for the hope of you to understand me.
Tonight I conclude again, that hope itself is a misunderstanding.
So as the words came to stay, upon an evening that's soon to break.
Just needed a little sway, from this long sleep I'm now awake.
After a distant travel, to a land that made me sober.
Let me repeat the cycle, and be this life's hopeless lover..
