Poem 13- Midnight whisper

Planned pressure

A weak sustainess

Pleasing promises

A heart broken lie

Painful picture of poignant poet presenting past

Yet a lost part of me has come back at last

You can call him nytophile my dear

He trust the silence in the dark

Yet he is what he fears

A scar, a painful mark

It screams, it rejoices

To all land which hear its voices

Nothing in the land can measure its promises

Abundant they may seem

Let's hold hands as we walk the lonely road

Such as he once would

It's lands it roams

It advocates

-Ink_Motional(a friend[he made the poem, I remixed it])/KrakenBorn