Sumthing of old

Sunder, splints, nails and torns,

What will words mean?

Coming from silence of morn,

Darkness veils as only loneliness seen.

Loneliness.... yes.. Darkness...

There is no muse, no sound, nor day,

Where are the birds that greet dawn,

Where oh where does it say,

Oh fair music that can break, darkness like clay.

And there it was, the light,

Smiten me as it changes,

The dance, the steps, the duets,

She sing to me in many faces.

I want to greet,

I instead retreat,

I want to say,

I instead ran away.

I'm a poet that has no own words,

I'm a bird that has no wings,

Nor can it sing,

Im hollow, empty, and no rings.

I've fallen sick... cough... no seriously.. Im sick...