Memory

It's always been this way,
at least that's what I remember.
All in order from
flower to flower.

Everything just in it's place
like it was all some show,
although we always feel as if
we are the lead role.

At least that's how they feel,
the ones who had it all.
Ignorant bystanders who walk
the same footsteps for eternity.

Yet here we are the exiled,
the insociable, the outcasts.
They made us what we are,
but is that the truth?

Maybe it was us who brought
upon ourselves this curse,
this hex, this affliction!
They gave us the idea, we made it

Reality....

Only then we feel a thousand tears,
that were never there.
As though out there, somewhere,
a soul was weeping for us.

But not in this hour,
shall we ponder the past.
We strive for the future
where love and regret lie obscured.

Of course there are that few,
who dwell on the sadness,
they leave none forgotten,
but have they themselves

Been the ones forgotten...

It's always been this way
at least that's what I remember
all in order from
memory to tears...