Forging the Heart's Facade

It used to be so fun to be alive, To laugh, to smile, but now I smell the roses And find out that home is where the heart is. Another gone too soon, God hears me praying: Feet don't fail me now, not today no how. What happens when I [too] have fears  of blank . . . Of which inure to night's nunusseum Amongst the solitude of nightingale stars— I'm so frustrated, canopied by night's Overhanging baldachin, or reachless Height, my own much self-loving sunburnt brain, Or candlelight, I'm good. My very first dreams Which I dig up like buried family, I am afraid of what I'd always find out From memory. I would back everybody, Those dry white roses pluck up from my soul. With that said, after all the grave sides, we learn New things about ourselves. I fight back tears, To keep from spilling brown oceanic eyes, Demise itself. I'll forge my heart's facade A stoic mask the pain to hide inside.