Mourners of the Fleeting

There is a certain kind of hysteria

A quiet kind of lunacy

Of those who cannot who take the road less traveled

But instead get lost amongst the trees
They seize innocence

Like a creature with wings

Only to caress

To embrace

To feed
Obsession that leads

To inivitable death

Of the very thing they smothered

In an effort to be free
We are mourners

Who attend the funerals

Of the fleeting

To see the wonder

And chase the fairies

Yet with each starry night

We feel the entropy
So often we’re a footnote tragedy

But like a shooting star

There is the rarity
Who leaves awe and loveliness

In a realm where they were never meant to be
They are beautiful fools

They are willful naiveté

They are a mere glimpse

Of breathtaking possibility
They are the magicians who teach us to believe

They are the rebels 

I can only hope to be
So here is to the music makers

And here is to the dreamers of the dreams


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