The seams of our tomorrow stitch together half-heartedly,
An untold story that aches within the embrace of another.
I peer upon the prairies that spread across my periphery from the gold gates of our kingdom,
which crumble and collapse under every waking sun.
It hurts to see it fall ever so gracefully on the land where we were birthed and born into our shells of humanity.
A glacial arrangement of the forsaken lost atoms that broke during the creation of this universe,
one which deemed us an imperfect, perfect fit.
One which dances upon a bed of needles,
one which calls out with silence amongst a crowd,
one where the fire cleansed our sorrows with coolness,
and one where the water burned to kill.
Our existence amongst these golden gates, hidden within these prairies, subsists in our universe that is merely a vacant mirage.
One that conceals the cracks within our pairing,
one that veils the silver linings within our strings,
one that binds our hopes to a sunken anchor,
and one that refuses to set us free from one another.
As I call upon the pangs that persist within my heart, I call unto the hierarchal victors of time and space to unwrap all the wrongdoings that we unfolded.
I call upon the great odysseys to endeavour new footpaths to craft history,
one that will never lead to a tomorrow occupied with us.
The one that shall remain bested underneath piles of unknowingness and fragility,
one that will remain in secrecy and deception,
one that will stay hidden from all curiosity and exploration,
and one where we may finally achieve an independent bliss.