Writers need be
the creators of new cliche's.
Our common grounds,
adverse,
we've heard each one bathe in cynicism.
They're a subtle melody
of melancholy in the ear.
Society fails to change.
Dead philosophers, scholars,
and poets who convey truth.
They conveyed it best.
Forgotten,
a million years behind,
messages,
hints to heart,
truth mattered.
To each of them a purpose,
and what of us?
Suffering from insomnia:
How're we to be...
A gleam of light-
from 3 A.M. darkness?
