Dear traveler,
It derives as a stillness.
The timid muse, the quiet before a storm;
And the storm, it's at close quarters.
Be conscious of this.

Dear traveler,
You ****** the sound of silence.
And surely, the outbreak did come,
Did it not?
The torrent of corrupt introspection,
Arrives only to plague you, friend.

Dear traveler,
This interval has no expiration.
And no time to construe.  
The steps you brave aren't impeccable,
So hurdle the stakes,
For behind you is a fiasco.  

Dear traveler,
Proverbs of fire,
Are being spat towards the soul.
You are made of oil,
And rigged to explode.
This horde has not one heed,
Of how you emerge gold.