Song of the Lost (Rewrite #2 2009)

I saw a wintry song bout us all. The minstrel had brought a package of cold new Eden The crowd hovered, as statues to the heathen. Sounds poured, thoughts raced to the wind. When silence passed the minstrel would begin. The vibration of string began with a note in the hand Listen! The simple song of hope the hope of dreams sounds so pure from such simple strings wrought with pain and cure. Tasted were salts of sound Each bent, to benefit our need. blank stares streamed, with tears that were broken Each touch of coldness, and thought of regret formed dreams that only men can forget From deep Edens verse emptiness now poured filling every space of every chord. Notes meant to harm not heal Now caressed my soul Sounds of cold rhythms swarming so dark I dared not look away lest my life lose its meaning there on that day. In the end as falling into a pit my heart soared, to escape the madness of it I now burdened by song stood at the end of all hope then as if seeing our pain and tears knowing of our fears In anticipations silence he did bow, and with one final note my darkened mood enshroud.