Stagnant
The void is made of silvery, satin silk
A beautifully fabricated lie
There's no place for time to fly
There's no voice
It is calm and it is no place to rejoice
The void is like the sound of static
Noise that does not bring comfort but a mere distraction
From the brain's infraction
Filling the dark tragedy of the mind's traumatic
Fragments
Flash all at once
"What have I done?"
Filling with emptiness
Drowning in contempt
Latching on to things to fill the void
The void created by the broken fragments
Apart of thy soul
The priestess cajoles
A sad hymn of holiness
While the crowd dances in the silence
Mimicking what once was
thought of as a happy solstice