In the Empire of Silence
In the Empire of Silence
In the empire of silence where the senses rest and cease,
I have become the master of the marionettes hidden in the darkness of the skies,
An effigy of mist drifting upon the seas of indifference and unease,
In this theater of existence I am a specter breaking free from its own shadow's guise.
I have squandered without count the treasure of love and the pod of trust,
The sap of my own being poured out until there was nothing left to give,
Now I lie here a relic of withered hopes dissolving into dust,
In the wind of a forgetting so complete there is no reason left to live.
The vortex of the void absorbs me into an abyss without an echo or a sound,
My heart once a burning flame now only a fresco of agony on the wall,
In my chamber only the whisper of thin defilement can be found,
And I listen to it rise... and I cannot stop it... and I fall.
My language has transformed into an assault of vibrating blades cutting deep,
Each word a surgeon dissecting my alabaster vulnerability with care,
Signing unseen but deeply the map of suffering upon a soul's terrain in sleep,
These invisible scars scratch against each breath I draw from the empty air.
I swim in the bitterness of an oasis dried of all its pure and clean feeling,
The silent concert of a love that extinguished itself at dusk without a sound,
The fragile faith has crumbled like a stained glass window under a storm's dealing,
And every broken promise became a carriage over which disillusion pound.
I let myself be carried like a leaf in foreign winds without a choice or say,
Where the melody of others dictates the waltz of my deprivation and my loss,
And so my inner world has become an altar of sacred silence and decay,
A repetitive refrain of mystery and secret... and an unbearable cross.
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