Lo and Hark, Let the drama begin
The ne’er-told story Of rest and silver candles
A serenity and purity that I had ne'er known
For I ne'er entered her imminent rest
And fled from ev'ry slumber I did spot
Fled from ev'ry mind-consuming rot
Ne'er thought I wrong did be
Did she learn this silently?
Imagination is often the greatest salvation
Therefore she imagined the best part of her death
How great she thought was rest,
Thus she denied the loss o' breath
Reads her books in candlelight perpetually
Twixt silver shaded walls, oh sweet sanctity
Stone shall be wood and candles be nails
Darken the lightness, and enter the ground
Fumed murk to blue stains, skins turns to pale
Burned her books in candlelight
Lest they ne’er shall be found
Aged, Discarded, Distrusted, Forgotten
Rejected, and like her, Impaired With and Stale
I ne'er said she took her life
But no one said she didn't
She needed her sleep more than the sound of my aphonia
(Unfit to hold a candle to) a fire's grey cessation
Lulled her into a silken repose
Died for me? Perhaps.. Who knows...?
She rests with silver candles