Lost In A Story Of Personal Vengeance With Oneself

A lot of us are broken,
A lot of us leave in fear
For gratitude we hold no token,
We run scared from things that never really appear.
They twist the kinded soul
Like gusts of wind from kindred spirits
Resembling thorny pieces of charcoal
They fall with darkness and no merits.

Never again will they ever regain
The great white-headed beauty they once held
Only because they can not retain
The Power they had.. for now it is jailed
In their prison of hatred, doom and anxiety
So when they smile at you, you feel they are dead
You cry in lonely revery for their striking dread
Swearing upon an ice-cold star that you will seek propriety