Empty Little Melody
Crawing The Dialogue
Once again becoming restless,
Not all storms are the same,
Not all depths are the same,
Only the simple ones crave judgment.
More precisely — justice, the plain phrases,
The magic pill,
The true method,
Or the search for someone to blame.
Is a person capable of keeping a dialogue
With the soul — the truly sensitive being,
Or doomed to beings too superior,
That noise, that unrest —
Only tears drive through harshness.
But if only it were possible,
Now and then to sit and speak
Of what hides deeper than skin and flesh.
This noise, these screams,
The emptiness that’s always too empty,
Hope for the single melody,
For the song, for harmony.
In dance with personal Madness,
Darian