Melancholy Bestowed To The Dead

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To steal away throughout a nightly calling, Leaves an ageless heart to devour passionate Waves burning within. Melancholy soaks my tired eyes when the rain crashes into earthly hallows. For can a lowly steed vindicate the unholy of the holy? Shall a maestro remise his song, or shall his sense of belonging become diminished with each falling strand of pearls draping her neck. For her unturned path relies heavily on the one who stole her prayer. The unsung hero drowns in his own rage when fluidity for words fails him. Lost and bestowed to the dead, he is driven by steel words once spoken to him by his father who encased him in his tomb.