Where
once velvet chords would tremor
Like
the veils to the feather of a tungsten floor
Breaths
of inhalations deep, slowly
Columned
their way, unto
The
secret side of inner peace
Today,
a cold statue divides,
As
would the wall if still erect,
Coinciding
with the concept of birth and death,
To
which delusionary visions have been known to house
I
had grown so very fond of sound
Therefore,
It
does not surprise me at all
That
Amusia
Should
strike
It’s
deafening, defining blow….
Like
so many curtain calls
Destruction
tends to enjoy
Standing
above
It’s
bloodied prey.
