One never knows how silent
The night when unanswered
Are the calls. How empty the sky
When cloud cover takes the reigns
And pulls at the thundering steeds.
The light that life uneasy grips,
It shrouds in mourning cloth
Until it is smothered and still;
Vacant and willing to believe that
Snake oil is the miracle mixer.
With miss or miss this forsaken kiss
Brings small solace to the mirror.
Fables are the epitaphs of the bold
While simpler times are forgotten
Or traded in for just one more round.
Willing to swap truth for dare
They share the monumental.
The consequential desire to break
Forth and scream with one voice
Carries them on silent winds.