my lips fill with ash and dead sins of popular voice.
sunk forward by shredded noise and spin
further into a stale wine.

caught tongue in cheek and words to speak
a cup of your liking.
was it a just a minor sapling to ignore?

oh ghostly tidings,
i found the lark falling into blackness.
mirrored sightings of maddening spores,
the fall full of darling ******.

inviting and pleading a forward sound of feeling
that no longer could ignore.

the chance of silence to be explored.