Your silence killed my passion
and all the the warmth this heart once
held for you and you alone.
The fleeting voice of logic,
then deposed by dreams of romance
had found its place upon the throne--
until you spoke again.
So now I sit in shambles;
airs of loss, love and legend paint
the skies neath the lovers without
reason. But you smile while I submit
to the death without Respite-- to
the mercy of your vibrant voice and
cries of earthly solace.
For the sound of life --
of faded grace, hope, and cold--
I stay bound to the noise that calls
beasts to the cliffs; I stand on
the precipice now, and the void whispers:
"Welcome, tired wanderer.
This is where your heart belongs."