The first sight of true dark

 So angels do not hear our fearful cries,

our voices are muted beneath the sun,

and we are frozen even when we've won.

Trapped in a world of loudly buzzing flies

we can't be sure of either truths or lies,

there's no security beneath the sun,

for it's all finished before it's begun

as we become the things we most despise.

The days run faster before life returns 

from the dark hollows of uncertain times,

but we're not satisfied by normal life.

What we desire is a warm heart that burns

with light enough to heal our sordid crimes,

and silence then all anger, fear,

or strife.

Open or closed, it really doesn't matter

The price is always measured in dried blood,

the world's all visible, naught may be hid,

reality's a pot lacking its lid,

truth strikes the floor with a definite thud

revealing the deep rot beneath the crud.

Nothing we do can temper nor forbid

our paying up for awful things we did

for all can see our footprints in the mud.

All that we claim as fact is one huge lie 

that we have used to win us, out of strife,

delay from the inevitable end 

hidden above even the brightest sky:

The levinbolt that blasts every sweet life,

for which there is no answer that could mend.