The bitterly sweet seclusion
Sit the soul free of the jabbering drones
of those corners of such mess
The mind's noise may flow
outside the quiet enclosure of these walls
Rejuvenate the self
as no intruders may interrupt
The beating of the heart
conducts the ticking into the night
Yet, until the harmless flow drifts unwillingly off its course
into that realm of overwhelming angst
Suddenly the state of one witched the dark to light its path
of which aimlessly walked alone
But the heart bursts with the pressuring passion
to sync such a setting
with that of a curious walker-by
Gloomily no steps heard from the intimidating outside
All that echoes is the fading notes of yesterday's piano
Oh that reminiscent tune
The plucking harp of a shining, graced spirit
now an irrelevant concocted sound
falling so suddenly short of a masterpiece
That song that enslaves the head
as if calling for an encore, before the conductor even raises his baton  
So the art of the writer's hand is clenched still
by the frigid hold of the past
and guiding the pen's strokes through the only script it believes
The same story pathetically scribbled every night
in ridiculous hopes of a greater ending