In silence kept
The death touch of cold wind
Blows darkened whistles
And whispers calmly,
Through wild stars and morning lights.
Creeping through the fingers
under the Watchtower’s door.
Sipping the blood
The silent steps of winter’s dew.
Cracks on the grave,
The tombstone’s ajar.
Taken back instants,
Clear clouds the day.
Strings of rain cover the moon’s
Forbidden lament.
The tears of the stone
Bleeds on the grass,
Unseen, untold,
Once again…
Yet, unspoken words sound greatly
On the glass hearts
Of immortal souls…
Asks the god
a question he fears most:
Whose fault it was…
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