The crimson skies

All whisper lies

To me of better days

And while I ponder

My soul wanders

Behind these drawn shades.

The Journey that I once began

With vin and so much vigor

Is paved with thorns, and I forlorn

Have found a different ending.

A contrast from the hopes and dreams

I once hoped to aspire,

Alone and cold within this room

Those dreams I now retire.

And though the thunder tumbles loud,

Eventually it ends

As my life, once bright and powerful

Fades back where it begins.

It fades from fields once bountiful

To withered crops run dry

With weeds that scour, sun that scorns

Within a barren sky.

My days once plagued with tilling

Curse my blistered hands, please know

That I have spent all days in labor

Never reaping what I've sewn.

-Victor Tinsdale