Two separate pillars
        full of love and hate
Making their way down the gradual *****
        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.