If tears are comparable to the sky raining

And supposedly the rainbow comes after the storm

What happens with a sadness not waning? 

Does such beauty still appear to a heart so torn?

A week goes by where everything is hazy

All hours of the day the mind fixes on one thing only

What happens when you get tired, when Love gets lazy?

Paying the price for Its fault with nights so . . .

lonely.

If the sound of a live heart is just like a drum

And suppose that one day the membrane rips

The silence that follows, not a single harp string strummed

Quiet and peaceful like their corpses asleep in their crypts.

They say the body repairs itself during sleep

But what happens to one such mind

Restles as night, it can only weep

About things that are perhaps best left behind.