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Illustrations
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This Is the Dark Era
What do you expect in return when you dip your hands into the well?
The buildings are painted in black.
Dirt fills the air, the wind is thick.
My only hope is for return.
All for a story, all for a lie.
The skies above weep at the sound of the wretched being, our demise.
We're all slaves to a 'master.'
(This is the dark era.)
It's the mental anguish, an acquired fear.
Pierced through my soul, bringing only tears.
The city is burning, this is our fate.
A rotting regime only built by hate.
My thoughts begin to diminish.
A lifetime for an hour of 'paradise,
' yet in the end there is no resurrection.
No hope.
No control.
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