Two separate pillars
full of love and hate
Making their way down the gradual slope
fast, but not fast enough
Falling silent as silhouettes
Each one dances to its own song,
a greater purpose with each to serve
An unspoken lullaby
These pillars of thought
streak down my face
A remedy of memory long forgotten
Painted, in new colors
A melody of its own
If only I held the power of composition,
if only that I had known
But if it's a story you're looking for,
Then I ask you not to inquire again.
Not again. Nevermore.