With words like riddles
(Like stars)
Though the stars are only temporary
Playing with illusions of a reality or immortality

Blink.

Gone. All we see is the scar
And society pulls on the Band-Aid brand
Illusions.

So.
Riddle me this.
Riddle me that.
But who really knows why a raven is like
A writing desk?

Having answers but forgetting the question

The scientific society meets
Cynical teen meets
Maturing philosophical adult

Blink.

Which ones are real?
Which ones aren’t?
We count them all giving them names
And wishing upon the ones that fall.

Blink.

Hail the true martyrs of the sky!
While we sing songs and watch them die.
Then lament the future death of our own Sun.
Never thinking of the cold galaxies left behind.

Gone.
















( I would like to thank Dicle aka Inexpirienced for making me write this down instead of throwing it out as randomness. )

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