There are so many things to say,
Yet I am many worlds away.
My breath catching on the last note,
Above all else remains hope.
But what remains to be seen,
Left lime-lighting on the scene.
A tempest *** left to boil,
Bursting with reckless sounds known.
No path placed left to see,
Yet the road ahead is black as stone.
What remains is a destitution,
A lacquer of things built up over time.
What now that all is left but a resolution,
A choice I hope that never becomes mine.