• Oh!
    How gently the wind sighs with the feeling of thy heart,
    Thy soul glistens with the residue left behind upon the strings of thy wooden grave.
    Its notes pierce the night sky with the intensity of a thousand words,
    Purifying thy thoughts and becoming more than just sounds,
    They become life,
    And life is nothing, but a dream!
    So it is no wonder why the carved soul is so depended upon these desperate times,
    To provide pleasant dreams, rather than nightmares that spook thy heart,
    And shake thy soul.
    How brilliant a soul shines with the presence of that wooden grave,
    I’d rather die than let my soul suffer,
    The displeasing distaste of today’s entertainment,
    That so desperately tries to gain access to thy home,
    And enter into thy heart,
    To wreak thy soul,
    And darken its glow.