The Silent Pressured Woes

"The Silent weep for me," he said
as he twirled me round and round,
among the other couples dancing,
upon the gilded dance room floor.

And as we made our pass across the room,
I whispered through my teeth,
"Will they weep for me as well, my friend?
When you plunge or pour your choice of death?"

You chuckled as you joined me once again,
the sound a brilliant joy,
against the dismal death before me.

And as you took me in your arms to dance,
you whispered in my ear:

"It's hard to tell my dear,
the Silent are fickle or so they say."

And as I whirled round and round,
I had to wonder why,
why would the Silent weep,
for such a terrible man,
this terrible man in front of me,
who would purge my soul with murder,
before the night was gone?

And as he dipped me to the floor,
I gazed upon his face,
and spoke the thought aloud.
"Why would they weep, my friend,
for a terrible man, like you?"

You smiled and laughed again,
humming that broken tune once more.
"They weep, not for me, my dear sweet child, but for what I could have been. I could have been so much more, you see and so they view me as a waste of the 'gifts' they bestowed upon my head."
Your voice had grown bitter and angry by the end.

"So you would punish me instead?" I asked,
upset, that now I would have to die for one man's folly rage.

I yanked myself away,
away from his ruthless hands,
and as I realized what Horror'd done,
Because now the dead had come,
the past victims of his knife,
they'd come to let me live,
"a long, full, [peaceful life"
they said.
But I would be haunted,
for all of eternity.

Because perhaps we were all to blame,
for the bitting words we said,
never thinking about the wounds we'd cut,
so very very deep.

And as i stood behind the ghosts,
of ragous wounds of past,
I regarded the kill sadly,
with tear brimmed eyes of woe.





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