We should have parted ways ,  
Like we parted lips
For were we the makers ,  
Of our bitter eclipse

And Now .
The Strings lie silent
And forgotten,
My muse is dead,
And the memories have rotten.
The dawn of the dusk
Is now on our hands,
As solitude greets
From stranger’s stands.

So.
The music of solitude,
Will await  no dancer;
We were our questions,
But are we our answers?