All of Soul Is Cryimg

Lying yet not still asleep, all of soul is crying. Some things burn within so deep, has darkedness to dying. Every wish that's ever cast, each spell of which is prayed. Flashed both before and seen whence back, its movement never stayed. Madness is by dreams alone, this mint upon my pillow. Sand by base and also stone, free beds the weeping willow. Horridness not spoken once, by any mothers grand. Not only fills the world of blood, but dirtys up her hands. To be the one that points this out, plans me the one for dying. Lying still not yet awake, all of soul is dying.