Extol

Burning fire on a baited breath,
Eternal dreams from here to death,
The sorrow clinches;
Wrenches undefined
Upon wearied souls
And broken lines.

If I cease to dream
I'd cease to sorrow:
A fate despair'd
I cannot swallow.
If I cease to feel the last breath,
I'd break and turn
To death and wallow.

It's funny how I stay alive;
Waiting on dreams,
Waiting on power.
To control my destiny
I burn with need;
To sorrow I turn
To feel myself bleed.

ISA