I dress myself alone and wanting.
In clothes that won't fit.
Thread-bare silk inlaid with vexing jewels.
Gathered from a higher realm.
Polished daily.
That gleam is fading along with me seized in its reflection.
I see a waif cursed with vision beyond common sight.
Wandering streets of ermine and sickly jade.
Unable to buy he seeks to pry value and sentimentality free from mundanity.
His device is crude and nearly broken.
The wrong tool for the job.
Those around fail to notice by their own choosing
I won't join Matthew just yet...
He died wanting for bread, begging me timidly to share a portion of his fear. His hands shook, clammy and fretful throughout his final ordeal. I bid him farewell and set him free from hunger. Succor never came from strangers, but it came from me for him on that day. That borrowed blade, Silence of song, embedded itself in his life and lingered there until it stood alone in that vacuous chamber. Breath vacated his gaunt body as if fleeing capture. I left him lying there gazing above for enlightenment that would never come, but was always there to see.

Long did we find ourselves partners in plight.
Carrying both silence and song with us.
We heard sweet lyrics sang by angels.
While silence filled our home, full of empty hands.
Behind fortress walls, we were protected from foreign invasion.
Yet unprotected were we all from misfortune.
Parents offered to war as sacrifices, crying out for justice.
They found only death, offered only tragedy.
Instead of the justice they promised to give.
They returned dishonored, dressed in shame and covered in woe.
Houses set upon higher ground.
Came before us bearing fruits of privilege.
Readily shed from branches grown unchecked.
Had it been geniune, it wouldn't of stopped at charity.
It would have continued onward, brave and unguarded against concerns of cost.
Homes and hearts provided keep minds and souls tethered much longer.
Than false pretenses and half-hearted succor.
If I grow up I will seek allegiance with the blades of silence.
For it was one of its members that came down to our level.
And offered us a sliver of hope cradled within an expression of generosity.
Nothing in return, only silence. Said the hooded person wearing silver myths upon his breast.
Silence of song was given to me by way of gentle force.
Though timid and wavering, my hands were persuaded to open of their own accord.
His warmth was a key, intrusive and welcomed, it opened my trust and left us both in awe.
Before he could vanish from our lives, a song began to play.
It was song that united the kingdom, kept solidarity from fraying at the fringes.
Those that wore Ermine and jade stopped to listen, held by hands of power and position.
We couldn't discern its meaning or intention, little did we know that our feelings of exclusion were actually gifts of freedom...
By the time our tongues were ready to question, he was set in motion away from us toward the sounds and crowds of oblivious listeners.
Flashes of steel flickered in front of captivated visages locked in controlled reveries.
Delusions of a place indistinguishable from paradise, shattered upon contact with reality.
Blood was set loose onto the streets, though the affected were grateful to be rid of it.
For it was pain that freed them from song.
It was House Horgrave that day that made attempt upon our sovereignty.
Their songs are composed in sin yet are performed in innocence.
The blades of silence seek an end to these malicious performances.