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