Red Wings flying over a sunset

The soft gentle flow grates on the exterior,
enticing and seducing the drowned roots into submission.
The passive echo lingers like a semitone in a cacophonous melody.
An echo of a soft, gentle history forever lost in oblivion, the recreated unknown.
The past possessed tears, smiles and pain.
But the present and the future promise, through gnarling teeth, wealth, 'order and progress',
dressed in shades of prosperity and hope.
Our reality skates on uncertain waves,
battling, retreating, fighting, giving up.
This is the lie, our waves come and pass,
Our nights of passion and suffering continue,
Our days of fear and manipulation reoccur.
This is the lie,
Our world.
Red wings flying over a sunset to a pitiful home