Rise.

The fallen
grass reminds me of you.
A green touch it gives.

Dark doubt
in every thought,
every eye,
every touch.
Further more
higher hopes
and ahead of you,
behind you,
in you,
pride.

Rise without a face,
in the walls of the deaf landscape,
and dead branches.
My wings are collecting the lightning
from the evil clouds.
It is a place of pain,
that bites.
Downhill,
and suffering,
a rumble of thoughts and dreams.