A fall From feathers light, Golden Fields of feeling Forever trapped in feverish blight. Though the day is warm Always in preparation for the mightiest of storm. Not one of simple rain, But that which from the mind Attacks in vain. So now How in need are we, For the feelings of freedom To be truly free.

A silence, Eerily deafening, Though nothing surrounds, It is if a lion roars in my ear. The absence of, Yet the abundance, Where the trails of sound slowly fade, The daunting climb of thought provokes An unending climb. Accompanied By vast chasms devoid of even a pens drop. To be silent Is to be truly alone with oneself.