I hear the silent death of words yet to be uttered,
Seeping down the abysmal corridor of failed beauty,
Strangled by a constriction in my soul - a moment where none suffered,
Futile, this thought, already gone, faded away into yet another forgotten memory.
Hope swells, joy stuttered,
I laughed again, but as always, somewhat hesitantly,
The vision cast down, a moment drew by, chilly, the solitude, yes, just, lonely,
Something rose, the words enshrouded, barely murmured,
But no more, no more, forever shut off to me.
I grasp, I clasp - I pour over meaningless lines, all cluttered,
So cluttered, so full, yet useless, endlessly,
Ah yes, they stir, they whisper, they breathe life again into me,
Then lost in another drift of wings never to be shuttered,
Cold, lifeless, dead, not again, no more, I had it, it was mine, it always came,
But no more, no more,
No more they know me.
The origin of it all, a mystery now, to me.
So I seek still, for that beauty, I call it to it, I beg of it,
I pray to it, for it is all, my forsaken deity.
She has turned her back on me,
So no more, no more, I weep, I fall, I die,
In the twilight of dread I cry,
To be reunited to my destiny, my one, my all, my only.
But no more, no more, she answers,
No more shall it ever be.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.