May 22, 2017

These bitter nights chill at our bones,
If one is quiet they can hear the unfortunate groans,
I can be found near the edge skipping stones,
Soon the ship is visible, flags raised high of skull and cross-bones.

Our thoughts come to the conclusion,
That happiness is only an illusion,
Children experience nothing but confusion,
The beautiful blue soon becomes red with delusion.

The cannons begin to explode,
We search for the right code,
The murderers transition to unload,
I run as fast as I can to the railroad.

Soon our world is hushed to be quiet,
The lights begin to disappear with no more riot,
Those at sea are nothing more than a floating pirate,
My name is Mr. Clyatt.

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