A sheer slate of industry,
broken by the melodic ridges.
Echoing the smallest whispers,
and dulling the mind's largest cries,
these walls defy all which seems sane.

Without color,
without shade.
Simple textures
resonate my cadence.

Standing strong and stagnant;
unrefined,
undefined.

Like a stone in the ocean,
Or a drop of water
In glistening oil,
A hole begins to fester.

Deep within my core,
The inching shadow grips my fears,
Throwing away my desires,
And beckoning my tears.

The solitude of the cliffside,
nothing but a sharpened breeze
to comfort the wayfaring soul.
The din of crashing waves
drawing forth a sense of exhaustion.

Thinly layered, I look out from above the precipice.
The biting air just another fact of life.
Looking upwards, the sky uses the clouds as a vest;
a warmth I currently desire,
however exhaustion closes in and I lay down to rest.

A lash of autumn wind slices at the skin,
a gentle yet firm reminder of nature's harsh personality.
With the whip arises a spray of icy water,
Its bleak gray sheen housing an unparalleled vibrancy.

The drifting tides churn in wonder and expectation,
bringing this once still and silent slate
to a monochromatic spectrum.

Vapors stand in strands,
Left to stain the sky.
Showing like an open wound,
Left behind by the wind’s talons.
Bleak and gray,
They insist on remaining;
Watching me fray;
Watching my silent decay.

Among life’s bountiful fruit,
The silent world is absolute.

An unspoken concept
Drifts through the air,
As if carried by the silent wind;
Her delicate touch
Disintegrating the stagnant air,
Bringing fresh life into the world.

After a moment of silence,
I pull my keys from their hiding pocket.
Their jingle, too, touched by the spirit.

Turning away from the cliff,
The screaming call of the void
Turns to a deafening silence;
The world is quiet once again,
And so is he.

Like a solitary tree in a silent plain
Awaiting the blight; the everlasting rain.
Life has come and gone;
The span of a second
With the grace of a swan
Like a shrouded mosaic
The mist reveals piece by piece;
A picture is formed
Of a concrete world,
Built on the fragile sands of time.