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As an attempt, in the most philisophical sense.

A line was drawn in the sand yet filtered;
Through its etched silence within hand...

Amidst twilight with adjective faith will break the mends,

It is my hope that someday we will live to understand
~

Through its inner torn desolation marked on its blotted page yet fully intact

In its bitter silence shouts filled with laughter in fits of rage;
The ultimate decision based on the mere notion of commonplace.
Can we ever escape its soul vested trace;
Mark the man who is willing to explore hence the opened door,

An open door through its billows torn chase;

Among its pain a certain intellectualized gain lest I refrain.

To count the cost through its heart felt trade;
The ultimate decision amidst its fray
A cover that was once blown within its sequential way
Broad spectrum as an ellusive figure 
A tree with leaves blowing through its breeze
Some may make their beds while others simply lie in it
Simply put, we either will make or break our covenant
The ultimate desicions within life's means
It's a matter of life or death.

Count the cost

We often will let things fester too long

We trust in self to sing its gloomy song
We each need a tender shoulder to cry yet find none
We often slip away to into its crimesome tide that only blinds some;
We sit in idle turn to its words as if you haven't heard
We each mix viscious words that know it hurts
Yet do we ever count the cost
A given sense of logic torn across
Back alley decisions made in the dark
Having come full circle into its light
The to commonly shift toward its gloom & doom
A fatal lost story of remorse shall seal your tomb
We often get a little frantic in its complacency
We then reflect to look inward toward its choiced resolution
With a solemn word that was once spoken in the dark
Has now come fullest circle into the light
A peril vex sort proned into desolation
Count the cost when all of reason ceases to exist
It's either a hit or a miss?
An inward look at harmony marked on its blotted page intact
To its sequential hidden beast reality
In sore torn displeasure to numb its pain
We then look inward toward its choiced resolution
Was their a word spoken in the dark?
Has now come to the fullest of light
A peril vex proned to desolation!
Count the cost when all of reason ceases to exist
An inward look at harmony
In sore displeasure to numb at the influx of weather
Yet if we reach inside within its ability to hide
Behind the false hidden garb of compromise
Count the cost!
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