A song, a cry, a slither of rain
Chaotic words extinguish the flame
A weeping heart and bleakness to see
Scorch and churn on the brink of insanity.
Where lies the end of the burning pleas
That scolds with fire of the quivering seas?
Tranquil and serene in blades of grass
And clouds that wade and fade to pass?
Though misery deceives the shout from the dusk
Demanding time but ever so brusque
To wait the tables of the turning dark
Or forever catch songs of thou immortal lark.
The time may come to smolder the kindle
And smother the darkness that may still dwindle
Amongst these walls that caress the heart
They lie amidst the shattered start
Beseeching the while for the sanest depart...
Why do they leave me the colour of Death
With sobs of blooms entwining my breath
'I am what I am' that is what they say
And I scream whilst I carry an endless dismay
Is the rueful sorrow that carries me home
The same attribution that leads me to roam?
Is it not unfair how they follow Death
Through a peaceful endeavour despite such a depth?
But how can I follow one such as Death
When the one such as Death is I?