Solitude waits in depths of the shadow of thoughts,
that vacuous realm of resolve, always sublime,
yet tactful and inquisite, precise, though dismal,
an incognate respite for the soul traveled beggar of doom’s disrepair.
The knowledge seeks its level in anachronistic mercy for not forgotten sceptors of strife.
All is not lost in the terror of times trespass. To gain the unknown and
lose the forgotten steps up the flow of creation and a gamble is thrown to the wolves of destiny.
I must not take away the frivolity of near miss counterproductive silence in forging through to mayhem’s tusk.
Let the raffle begin! Bargain with the quiet eyes of solitude? I’ll not.
The winner takes all and all is of what? Take it straw master!
And I receive to my emptiness, the song is sung, the rafters are empty. – Sinz