triforce4077
New member
I wrote it about emptiness and loneliness. ( with the theme being an attic). also, sorry if you are reading this twice ( I posted it in this section at about 2 a.m. last night).
"Epitome of Emptiness"
Tis’ but a devoid attic I return to, the nettle of murk
A canvas of dry hides within the shadows, not a splotch of color, fills the margins of the work.
Above me only rafters, not a peek of skies
Beside me, no one, never a chance for goodbyes.
Forces of loneliness, echoes of grief, torment me, as I sit within this nook
Waiting for a beating heart to serenade mine, to serge the important, as an early brook.
I wish for a hint of a sound,
The simplest symphony, but none can be found.
I attempt to play the harp of being
But the strings are sullied with the dust, which smothers the air; it is darkness that I continue seeing.
My weeping is only echoed and returned back to me.
Against the wall which separates me from life, against my plea.
And somewhere in the darkness sounds a whisper, a soft beat.
Alas, it is only my own heart beating, an utter defeat.
And so my heart beats, on its lone path,
Never finding another, till the end of time, I have weathered emptiness’ wrath.
"Epitome of Emptiness"
Tis’ but a devoid attic I return to, the nettle of murk
A canvas of dry hides within the shadows, not a splotch of color, fills the margins of the work.
Above me only rafters, not a peek of skies
Beside me, no one, never a chance for goodbyes.
Forces of loneliness, echoes of grief, torment me, as I sit within this nook
Waiting for a beating heart to serenade mine, to serge the important, as an early brook.
I wish for a hint of a sound,
The simplest symphony, but none can be found.
I attempt to play the harp of being
But the strings are sullied with the dust, which smothers the air; it is darkness that I continue seeing.
My weeping is only echoed and returned back to me.
Against the wall which separates me from life, against my plea.
And somewhere in the darkness sounds a whisper, a soft beat.
Alas, it is only my own heart beating, an utter defeat.
And so my heart beats, on its lone path,
Never finding another, till the end of time, I have weathered emptiness’ wrath.