I died never knowing.
The value song was sowing.
We held each other closer.
Two figures, indistinct.
I kept an eye from closure.
To happiness we would've gone.
Had Silence stayed away,
Now I fear that, I will...I'll,
Die without knowing...

Presumptous and fat.
He dined on honeyed bat.
While seated upon a carriage.
Gracing through Sharin wettened by lamentations.

Scarred by **** and pillage.
It was once a tender village.
Gone unnoticed through political necessity.

I'd jam this blade through his heart and be silent with him.
If song hadn't held me down at the waist.
So I swallowed disgrace with shame watching me.
Trembling inside his shadow.

If they come between us.
I'll get us far from fear.
And safely distanced from harm.

Said those lovely rags hanging from a bed of hair.
I longed to hold between my thinning fingers.
Stashed at my waist.
Twisted by youth.
I held our real hope and yet.
Lamented its part in our lives.

We heard the trampling grow louder.
As his men drew closer.
I reached for song to distract us.
From fretted conclusion.

Matthew forced us down together.
Huddled beneath that cracked window.
Still more intact than ourselves.

We made travel upon a road.
Of coarse stones and leaves aplenty.
Shrubs framed the dire edges.
Unable to support much life.

We watched through a clouded mirror.
As Toblin's men marched through.
Torches in hand.
Held by the ages.
Our memories were there still.
Able to send waves of history.
Screaming, dying, crying back to us.

Matthew had hoisted me along.
Hooking his arm under mine.
Taking us both to an old cabin.
Long abandoned and disowned.

Men upon saddle.
Entered Sharin's tear, a little town less than mine.
But still more than nothing.
We eluded suspicion huddled beside ashen rubble.

A chimney's corpse concealed us well.
Both of us coughed and sneezed.
Choked and wheezed.
On the dust and ashes left in the wake.
Of Lord Toblin's last mistake.

Black and red draped over ramparts.
Built by men in squalor.
Winked at us as we left.
It all behind.

Our parents lived outside these walls.
In a village far from here.
Could we return we might find.
That which we'd lost.

Friendship and fun.
Play that didn't come undone.
Whenever someone uninvolved.
Got themselves involved.

East of castle Sanguinair.
Blackened by the tide.
His men washed clean by victory.
Entertained by wine.

Came by the boatful.
Prideful, brash and boastful.
Little mind they gave ahead.
Spearheads laughed and bows did cry.
As helms marched ahead attached to mail and grime.
Many battles tempered fear with wisdom.
The knowledge that they knew.
Aided spear and guided shaft.
Passing through and through.

Once long ago it was but black and nothing else.
Now a splash of wine.
Had colored castle Sanguinair.
A color most divine.

Sickness claimed Matthew.
Not hunger or lack of faith.
It was too much.
To strike him down with unavoidable truths.

He didn't deserve that.
To live under stretching shadows.
Following him wherever we went.
In a world bereft of compassion.

With armed guards patrolling night and day.
Threatening beggars and waifs with imprisonment or worse.
I was the sole coin in his purse.
With me he could buy all the happiness his imagination could afford.

Together we stole to fill our bellies.
Hid to elude capture.
And invaded a nearby tavern to lift our spirits.
Maidens took great pains to dissuade.

Luckily I was equipped to persuade.
Finding myself without coin, Silence would have to suffice.
Song would have to wait, as it always did.
Matthew, pitiable and stricken with illness.

Attracted concern from all around.
Within these painted walls of red and black.
Where men threw back.
Speaking from the heart unfiltered.

He was a touch of humanity in a place of escape and denial.
Many of the serving wenches had children.
Or knew of youngsters battling disease and faced with hunger.
He was unaware of my plan.

Naive beyond measure.
He'd stand there to soak in their companionship.
Even ignored as he was he still fed off them.
He was a fool, he was my fool.

And I played him as such, acting on our behalf.
Without compunction I waited outside.
Waiting and scheming to steal that which young hands.
Can never grasp alone.

A stumbling *****, often heard spewing falsehoods and spittle.
Emerged dumb-footed and large of head.
He'd be off to a bed a woman.
Of ignoble birth no doubt.

Who or why I couldn't spy.
A reason to care.
He wasn't dressed in white and green.
So alone he would likely dream.

In place he wore what he could find in store.
A purple vest lined with silver trim down the front.
Wrought iron buttons kept his blonde wilderness in check.
I could smell the metal.

Of coin held in pockets.
Jangling in my head, soo near at hand.
Dangling from a strap at his waist.
I found fortune's place.

He turned to face me.
But saw nothing within that bush.
Hiding my likeness from his clouded eyes.
And blunted intellect.

Soft footfalls neared proximity.
Slipping silently with blade in hand.
I severed ties with wealth and redistributed it to me.
To us and our needs.

That swollen pouch fell to earth.
I caught it wearing mirth.
As it landed in my left with a plop.
I knew it to be heavy as a sack of bronze potatoes.

Harvested plump and earthy from stainless soil.
Unadulterated and free from trickery.
The goody drunk did well to not notice me.

His life wouldn't be the first.
Forever shall I be his left-hand girl.
And he my right-hand boy.

I dress myself alone and wanting.
In clothes that won't fit.
Thread-bare silk inlaid with vexing jewels.
Gathered from a higher realm.
Polished daily.
That gleam is fading along with me seized in its reflection.
I see a waif cursed with vision beyond common sight.
Wandering streets of ermine and sickly jade.
Unable to buy he seeks to pry value and sentimentality free from mundanity.
His device is crude and nearly broken.
The wrong tool for the job.
Those around fail to notice by their own choosing
I won't join Matthew just yet...
He died wanting for bread, begging me timidly to share a portion of his fear. His hands shook, clammy and fretful throughout his final ordeal. I bid him farewell and set him free from hunger. Succor never came from strangers, but it came from me for him on that day. That borrowed blade, Silence of song, embedded itself in his life and lingered there until it stood alone in that vacuous chamber. Breath vacated his gaunt body as if fleeing capture. I left him lying there gazing above for enlightenment that would never come, but was always there to see.

Long did we find ourselves partners in plight.
Carrying both silence and song with us.
We heard sweet lyrics sang by angels.
While silence filled our home, full of empty hands.
Behind fortress walls, we were protected from foreign invasion.
Yet unprotected were we all from misfortune.
Parents offered to war as sacrifices, crying out for justice.
They found only death, offered only tragedy.
Instead of the justice they promised to give.
They returned dishonored, dressed in shame and covered in woe.
Houses set upon higher ground.
Came before us bearing fruits of privilege.
Readily shed from branches grown unchecked.
Had it been geniune, it wouldn't of stopped at charity.
It would have continued onward, brave and unguarded against concerns of cost.
Homes and hearts provided keep minds and souls tethered much longer.
Than false pretenses and half-hearted succor.
If I grow up I will seek allegiance with the blades of silence.
For it was one of its members that came down to our level.
And offered us a sliver of hope cradled within an expression of generosity.
Nothing in return, only silence. Said the hooded person wearing silver myths upon his breast.
Silence of song was given to me by way of gentle force.
Though timid and wavering, my hands were persuaded to open of their own accord.
His warmth was a key, intrusive and welcomed, it opened my trust and left us both in awe.
Before he could vanish from our lives, a song began to play.
It was song that united the kingdom, kept solidarity from fraying at the fringes.
Those that wore Ermine and jade stopped to listen, held by hands of power and position.
We couldn't discern its meaning or intention, little did we know that our feelings of exclusion were actually gifts of freedom...
By the time our tongues were ready to question, he was set in motion away from us toward the sounds and crowds of oblivious listeners.
Flashes of steel flickered in front of captivated visages locked in controlled reveries.
Delusions of a place indistinguishable from paradise, shattered upon contact with reality.
Blood was set loose onto the streets, though the affected were grateful to be rid of it.
For it was pain that freed them from song.
It was House Horgrave that day that made attempt upon our sovereignty.
Their songs are composed in sin yet are performed in innocence.
The blades of silence seek an end to these malicious performances.