Shadows spill on the walls made to defend,
For loneliness is not worthless,
Enduring the crevices for hardship’s a godsend,
Failure doesn’t exist but the interior is still a mess,
Depleting all black sludge from the alcove,
No use crying over spilled milk,
Gratitude and puissance dove,
From Elysium meander down like silk,
The king nidificates his crown atop his head,
Belgian nuns misplace their two eyes to appreciate the third,
Minstrels convivially express themselves through song,
Lovers hold on to anything and everything,
A pharaoh treats their body as the temple they govern,
Belly dancers convey concupiscence to earn a living,
Mankind rely on belief that God will give just enough to handle,
Rooted to the floor while the darkness imitates,
If one can convince themself to be hopeless,
Surely the coin’s benign side can be just as persistent,
Cast forth Roy G. Biv a halo of color hovering above,
Spiraling and emanating before the makeshift tree,
Entangled sacrilege encased underneath a rainbow fleece,
Morph into any way the light decides to reflect,
Texture of choice for the cloaked figure in the distance can’t see,
Just a sphere of white mist translucent yet not duplicated,
For evil is subjective both fire and sunlight are illuminescent,
Yet opposing forces each attract only their own respective brethren,
All good stories are concluded wars and well-deserved peace
Accept Death’s gentle release,
A passionate kiss shared between two beneficial friends
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Loneliness Isn't Real 