It's Fate Poem by Joe Holley

Years count now of three as I miss thee, pain in cycle not missing me,
Such cruel that is, fate of that predicted in eyes of clarity.
Indecision of such deceitful prevision, it burns deep,
Succumb within filtered tears and hidden fears, such a lonesome sleep.

Lost are we whom that cannot view our lives in colour,
Deprived within insomnia, a malice of total torture.
Where; if not within do we venture, crafted into an emblem of the sacred raven,
Eternal sanity of the inner conscience, bereave that to seek the only haven.

If by so the light of lies shall blind, accursed be of the eclipse,
May that of what is to fate them too be kind, loved by that of life’s scripts.
Regret and sorrow in matrimony now as words fall to the broken heart,
One day though shall peace live, though pray that death shall not be its start.