What is it to be, to see the darkness in the coldness of the heat. The mind wonders through barren fields, mortar and ashes are the grass under my feet. The dead sky lingers above stifling my scene, agonizing appeal, I hear the fleeing birds shriek. Is it all an immortal dream, where mortals weak, and sovereign hands cannot relieve this dark unsettling thing, in my mind where all my feelings reach.
Speak not, my mouth silent be. Muted ears to an outsider's speech; but faint noise, yet too loud causes an antagonistic feel. Help! But their eyes my pain cannot greet. This darkness, did it arise from an ancient creed, or programmed from the seed?
Refrain from commenting on my existence, unless my lips upon yours be, then for a minute, or for the length of our misdeed, I feel a sensation until the climatic release. It feels like the sun through the clouds break, but after sleep, I awake with a numbing feel, of the darkness in the coldness of the heat; my mind wonders through deeper barren fields, mortar and ashes are the grass still under my feet.