Silence like a steel fist strikes blows upon me,
ever wrathful on my brow where pours my perspire,
sweet with all that was good now hastily fleeing me.
For the quiet is a killer of truth
as it does vanquish the elegance of life,
as it pries from me my trifles,
the trinkets of gleaming joy I beheld.
Secluded, I am bound to this peninsula,
connected to something somewhere,
but the route I cannot comprehend.
My soul forever parted from the bonds of what is real,
does shower out the wails of wounds I cannot heal.
Oh, the dreadful lull!
Within it I do sulk,
Pouting, moaning, where has gone the familiar melody!
The music of faces in company!
From my distractions, they are freed.
And, lone, I discern the distance of the truth.
As silence has melted it here.
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