Not quite a harsh pain this firework of the chest,
Although the myriad of colour cannot be seen
The melody echoes throughout the silent space.
Rows upon rows of madness-in-a-box
Where void fills void during the long twilight,
Industrial and forgettable instantaneity –
Fingers upon a chalkboard and bleeding nails.
Somewhere, somewhen, an Asphodelian wails
But it does not move the heart of such a deity;
Look! there comes the rest in a queer half-flight,
Eyes aflame or stolen by the wicked Nox,
There is this eerie gash in their romantic pace
As they seek but may never truly convene;
Ruby and silver and gold weigh nothing to those who rest.
Sigrid – High Five