Jan. 18

If silence be the food of need,

Then silence I give unto thee.

A friend made is thus unmade,

The winds wail not for me.

The feeble images of dissolution spread across our hearts.

How can we behold again the lost realms of ancient past?

Tis no more...

Only, a wanderer meandering through the dense forest of decay

Full of poisonous thorns and pernicious scorns,

Is left, weeping for days

That are no more...

O, never more....

Yet, a heart pure is yearning still

For more, quivering & beating still,

Like a rill that is full of dark currents

And unseen passions, flows

Through the world

Of restlessness...

O, never more...

Wail... for me...