Misfits

A band of self-made misfits
Standing together in a half-moon
Lips wrapped around lit cigarettes
With filters packed full of gunpowder— 
The explosion is coming, and they do not care
On the face of it all, but beneath the surface
A sea boils with the heat of doubt
Every word second guessed
Every movement laden with meaning
Eyes cast around, searching for one glance back
To calm the rising tide, restore the peace, quell the panic— 
And nothing comes, and the curtain is drawn tighter
Between an infinite soul and the sunlit world
Whose horizon stretches beyond the reach of dreams so far— 
The realm of impossible
With walls waiting to be torn down
Kept away by fear of leaving the circle
Until time corrodes the iron shackles
And a day dawns when only one remains— 
Then will the past fade to memory
The days ahead far brighter than the unending night behind.

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