The 12th Tragedy

hours after dark
the mind struggles on
to grasp the unthinkable
before the break of dawn
of unreasonable expectations
with hope long forlorn

As the midnight oil burns
through the endless void
of yesterday's failures
the past grips with fright

echoes and scratches
relentless verses of pen to paper
it hurts us so
but not as much as the promises we have to deliver

regret and tears uncried
we are screaming from within
glances of the outsiders eye
watching with anticipation implied

slowly degrading
rusted by intellect not our own
faded like the text we read
forced not to succumb to our yearning

but the night wears on and on
with no signs of respite
we have no choice to accept
that we are alone in this foresight

now that the lines begin to blur
and our hands tremble with a fatigue till then unknown
we look at the remainders of what we have become
smileless minions with bloodshot eyes!

throwing idle curses at our years
abusing the old and the young
those who do not know what it is to be here
who are not accustomed to a printed fear

faced with the blankness of 20 sides
it all comes back with terrifying speed
now we wish we actually did when we lied
and could write now rather than wait and bleed

will our sacrifices pay off?
or will we have to stand in line
with the rest who didn't even try
and suppress the then useless cry

where did the system go wrong?
the tragedy of our time
don't they yet understand?
a sheet full of numbers
do not maketh a man!