the tragedies from the nobodies

.from all out there

who trespassed 

immovable truth's

straight forward

through sounding 

trumpets of disbelief

 and voices of discouragement

(from those who rather sleep)

it's the measure

of all illusions 

in our disguise

this measure

is always ours, 

so it is 

our right to be

between the cold grip 

and us

'til our last display

we can still 

pretend

- only time can dictate 

how long 'till

this illusion mend 

soul drifting

in longing distances 

rapacious 

howling 

in rifting

(through your silence 

and mine)

for the previous sages

whose now sums the rages

to the elder peers 

we are still the offenders 

offend 

from pretend

in this illusion stitch 

to where 

they also can't reach

(but who used who?!)

the accuser claims 

"I did what the other didn't"

 -  but in his indifference 

the accused

only says 

"i could have done it 

if you ever let me dreamed it"

the hidden belief

sways the strings 

for all the accused

hidden right beneath

a layer of orchestrations

in a memorial 

   congregation , 

surviving 

the tragedy 

from the nobodies

that nobody  

regards.

we were young,

we were vain, 

we were 

the bruised bodies

in ethereal desperation

the lonely ones, 

in all this lonely towns

"daydreaming days 

of a daydreaming nation.