Tristan Robert Lange

Nevermore

What happened to us?
We were gods and goddesses,
We were golden like the sun,
We were radiant as the moon.

Lost are the glorious days
That reigned supreme long ago.
The lyre, with plucked strings,
Plays its sad, tortured tune.

Comedic is the eternal tragedy,
Where tears of laughter and pain
Mix like water and concrete,
Weighing down on one’s soul.

Love’s been mortally wounded.
Tattered is the broken heart
That ceases to beat within
The hollowed, cavernous abyss.

The days roll, season to season,
The earth’s oblivious to suffering.
Injured pride creates pain
And pain hardens the innocent.

Out of the fear of repetition
Comes the resolve of avoidance,
Leading the innocent to war
Where innocence is forever lost.

The battlefield lies desolate,
The carcasses lie in dead stillness.
With no hope of resurrection
Death eternal is omnipotent.

The golden days are missed.
The days of profound joy
Are sorely and hopelessly missed;
The agony of the word: Nevermore.