Some things can lighten pain,
And make anguish into a lantern,
Whose warm light guides a
Broken, battered spirit.
Some things can soften pain,
And make despair into a feathered wing,
Which brushes away the memories of darkness.
Some things can hide pain,
And make agony into a mist
That obscures all reality.
But most things aren't imaginary.
Throwing souls into darkness.
Wings are not as soft,
When the bird won't remove it's talons from your heart.
And mists have the unfortunate tendancy