I look at all that is left, the pages, the pictures, the dust,
The walls are weak, the heart stops for a minute,
My words come back to me, in shades that cry out towards the sky,
and yet, silence remains, ever watchful, omnipresent.

I feel the words that I said, to assuage the grief that is mine,
My eyes are the windows of my minds, where only suffering enters,
Disease, caresses the willows, it massages the misty forests of Gloom, and in my Melancholia, I am solitary, even though all I hoped for
was whisper, a quiet pat on the shoulder, a single ray of sunshine.

All is ashes now, all is consumed by Time, and all that remains,
is transient in my search for eternity, immortality weighs
on my fatigued brain like a heavy blanket, the gloved hand of Pain,
Takes me on, towards the end, towards Redemption, towards Salvation