The silence hangs over like the sword of Democles,
Relentlessly swinging back and forth with ease;
The threads of this silence only entwine and tease,
Endlessly, silently, nervously it lingers in the dark,
Scarring, staining, restraining; silence leaves a mark;
Emptied eyes, tightly closed, it awakes from the dream,
Numbed fingers silently caress the dark twisted seam,
The viscous emotions felt deep within begin to teem;
They swirl, dance and run amok in the cold silence;
Darkening, scarring the fallen walls with their essence;
A torrent, a surge, a violent storm that erupts inside,
shatters and breaks open the keepers tainted pride
a timeless force that seethes deeper with each stride
the keeper, now tired and filled with a final sorrow,
Succumbs to their whims, drowns in the void below
A final echo, a thought for the one he leaves behind,
The one he cared for, the image that he enshrined;
To the deep recesses of his mind it is eternally confined,
His heart, unbound by the shackles of deceit and time,
Steadies its legs and begins the steep heartless climb.
