In The End

Sweet summer substance,
the warmth of her rays
pelting down on the leaves of many.
Responding only with praise:
the only likeness is that of love -
A truly un-winnable war,
a place that one would long to be
only to bare no more.

The subtlety of her touch
upon the coldness of one's cheek
and the anger of her scorn
that imparts a seal upon the weak;
for all we do and all we've done
works hand in hand with the past
And for all They lie and all They cheat,
will have them finish last.

She watches some grow to reach the stars
and grants them higher plains,
while she casts some down to a boundless prison,
never to rise again.
Plain is the norm that we all face,
though to some, it's shrouded green.
Such is the life that They all chase,
for that life holds naught but dreams.