My Head

It gets cold at night when I see a silent moon in the dark sky. I sit on the sofa and stare at the screen of my laptop.

I believe that there are angels that fly and horses that moan.
I believe that there are people who lie and times that are blown.
The grass is becoming brown as I speak and the zombies I see killing a frown.
The chimneys across rising and red and a dog feeling cold, just looking for some bread.
There are inequalities I believe and that is the way this reality shall function. Everything here is clockwork, everything - including emotion.
Structures are wrought as a mark of existence.
Battles are fought as a testament to human perseverance.
Perseverance it shall be called for humans are cyclical.
It is a sad truth but it as said for all is a typical.
A rhyme is set, for its function is to harmonize.
But nothing is as beautiful as a barren sheet of ice about to pulverized.
I retire tonight as I see the dark moon.
I see that a witch approaches the round globe too soon.
I see fire and heat as I sit in my cold bed.
I see smiles and love as I wait for her to stand in my stead.