inspired by a good friend of mine, a comrade, another nightingale. thanks syam.
the road he walks on, contradicts with his smile,
the light he has on, countless times had he to burn himself under the shadow,
just so he gets through another maze,
just so he can speak again from one more scream.
the path he chose to embrace, could not yet for no clue for an answer to shed,
in the crowd, isolation blinds him, abandoned through his fragile glass window,
that land he often speaks of, both a garden of eden and an urban paradise,
is now slowly burried deep in the haze, later by the condemning concrete walls,
the keys to every great gate are slipping through his fingers,
his numb tamed fingers.
but last night, before my eyes i saw a knight,
with his still-burning dreams as the sharpest sword,
the only weapon his hands lay upon against all doubting thoughts,
that taunt him across day and night, by him and all the encountered fights,
he will not bow and surrender, will not be held down by the scared contenders,
to the end he shall march, on a white horse or black,
in the end we all shall see, where the ribbon will never be,
a winner that is well forged would become of him, definitely.