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So the world continues despite our best efforts to stop it. The world moves when our own reality stops, and the pain that resides in our hearts destroys the little breath we have left. The sun shines despite the darkness in front of us, and the light goes out no matter which way we turn. There is a pattern to the madness that we find ourselves in, a pattern to the destruction this world has to offer.

In the madness, in the destruction, it is our greatest creations that are born; our greatest hearts are heard in the vacuum of our grief. And as the lights fall from the sky and the stars become the dreams we can not attain, the voices of the angels whisper louder until it is only their song that keeps us alive.

With the piano playing in the background of the truth we must each reveal, the song becomes the heartbeat that our steps falter into. The smoke whirls around our heads and yet our tears can not be gathered in it; for in the smoke are the demons that hunt us, and the ones that we must kill. If we do not kill those demons, the world will continue, but our reality will be destroyed.

And in the aftermath of the greatest battle never told, it will be our own sweat that shows victory and our own blood that proves mettle. It will be our own destruction that God will forgive, and it will be his footsteps that echo the path we will follow. And in the aftermath of the greatest battle never told, we will learn that strength is an illusion, and brilliance can only be described in light; and the past is the door closed on the innocence we once had.

And in my words, I can not find the solace I once wished for; I can not find the sleep that will take the dreams away from conquering my soul. And the tears that fall in the smoke keep my eyes clear to see my future and the God that listens but can not act. My prayers become my new destruction, and my tears become my new defense; as once again I wade into the battle of life.

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