I walked into the sound, cold lapping out my feet and silence all around.
I walked into the sound, it’s about at my waist now, my problems back at shore and silence all around as I walked that misty morn out into the sound.
The water calm, my heart is still, the sound surrounds, the waves above me now.
All I am is silence deep within the sound, no problems, no worries, my weight is back at shore.
I hope, those that knew me, might forgive me once more.
Falling in to place pieces of pristine palaces parade down paradise lane.
The garden gathers grotesquely the rotten ripe fruit of of fallen forsaken fathers as morose mothers meander down the forgotten few road.
Children cry carelessly while carrying on without care and the garden gathers further.
Carrying burdens draped in cloth while those seen as burdens gather around, bound for the field of standing stones and burning pits the pristine palaces parade down paradise lane, a lane that no longer has a name as all fall to nothing.
Standing on the shore of what was, I watch what is drift away. It left me behind standing stranded on a beach with no name.
A place long in the past but never outside of now. Where nothing matters and nothing cares and all the world is gray nothing in the span of a single moment that stretches forward into eternity.
I stand there, waiting, and nothing passes, nothing moves. There is only myself and that grey moment, and the silence of the weight of the ashes that have become my home.
My life consists of a melancholy dream. A seeming thing of sighs and sights best disbelieved or simply ignored.
So it stands to be reasoned that I know not who I am or where I go I simply know this melancholy dream. This seeming with sighs and sounds best disbelieved or simply ignored.
So I move forward with nothing to show and nothing to gain, a life unlived. A death all the same.
I stand once more at the corner to the end and I find myself filled with dread, I fear this is it my friend.
The shadows are closing in and I can hear the bell that tolls. I’ll ask not for whom it rings, I fear that answer I already know.
So this I say my last good bye, I’m sorry I could not stay to watch those happy years roll by. I could not stand the sun on my face for I was looking over my shoulder at that darkness that was quickly keeping pace. I could not laugh nor sing or play for I saw the pain my passing day would bring.
So here I stand at the corner to the end and say this tearful good bye. I think of you and find that all I can do is cry.
Tired of sorrow so I’m sorry I sorrow so, I never meant to worry you, climbing so high I never thought to fall at all.
I’m tired of sorrow so I’ll say one last time I’m sorry I worried you so and now its morning and your mourning for a friend that climbed too high and never thought to think of that fall at all.
Someone who needed to be above the clouds just to feel safe to breath, the press of bodies the swell of souls was to much to bare, to know.
So I climbed higher still and never thought to fall never thought to slip or tumble, or worry towards that at all.
So I’m tired of sorrow, I’m tired of mourning but I’m sorry I brought you to it. The last apology, the sorrow of a sorrowful poet, my tears have dried and my years have gone, and gone without any kind of love or hope, just mourning every morning, and sorrows every night, I couldn’t rest I couldn’t stop so I reached and reached towards those glorious heights but I never meant for you to hurt for my hurt, my inability to stand the press of people and the swell of souls, and that dreadful wound that was the only emotion I was ever to know.
I scream and rant and try to cry, and yet, no tears will come, my soul is gone dry. I scream and rant and wail my pain, my rage unending due to knowing what should be. What was meant, but its gone to dust, nothing is left, and so I scream and rant, and try to cry, cry for what was lost, and yet no matter what I do no tears will fall, for my soul is dry.
Cracked and broken and riddled with holes, and so still I scream, I scream and scream until no breath is left, and then I try to wail, my throat dry and torn, my wails turn to coughs, blood upon my hands. Yet, still I scream my rage, unable to grieve, unable to despair, I wail my outrage, my pain, my horror, that what was lost was my happiness, and I will never recover.