The last ever roar
Of the mighty lion fades;
The vultures gather.

Broken is the heart
That beats not harder in ache
When another stops.

No farewell hurts more
Than one never truly said
When the moment came.

The moral compass
Matters not, should one choose to
Not look where it points.

A truth told with charm
Gets better heard, than one yelled
Out often and loud.

A promise well made
Holds no more worth than the truth
In its intention.

Golden is silence
For words coarse and fine, still bear
Hard truths, or sweet lies.

A secret buried
Blooms lies, and in time, they turn
Themselves, to secrets.

Silence, well placed, tells
Deeper truths than furious
Words uttered with zeal.

Twist them in harder,
Unkind words into my heart;
Your silence hurts more.

Victors grab spoils of
War waged, and won; The fallen
Claim nothing but rest.

Toward life's sunset
I walk, and my shadow grows
Longer with each step.

With all things unsaid
He wrote a silent ode to
Love he would not have.

What are the chances that I,
A son of storms braved
And ravishing days,
Astray in somber seas,
Can live knowing how to die.

Never will I know how to fly
With the weight of love
And love not had, tied
To my wings, by life's living;
I'll die yearning for the sky.