And it klinks, so calm and rhythmic.
When the melody takes up, an aura flows free
This, pure gaze of the heart, shall ever be enlighted
Never... Shall it find the path through the window
Slow, and steady, the deep tone wanders onward
How long will it ring in it's final token?
Then it starts again, mellow melody
It nearly, but only nearly, steals away the aura
Up to a higher tone, so fragile and bright...
Where it lingers, for merely a minute, no more
Before the sound of the soul dims forth yet again
When has it done it's deed, will it ever be, say?
And the fog outside it heard
Eagerly it listened, for every tone was of silver
In over dusty floor, embracing young poet and heart
Silent, like Death itself, choking his thoughts to ashes
On, plays his fingers, a melody that is still unnamed
Yet what is heard, is a spinning void laid across the room
He hears only hollow tones
Sounds of merely nothing but fragments of stone
These tones are now alike the ones of the whisper in the wind
They are sad, so sad without core, no shell, nor structure
Atmosphere of greyest melancholy, it spreads like a yawn
Ambient solitude... Is his dearest friend.