Personified Resemblance


Among the halo of a lulled stillness,
a faint whisper echoes.
A silent call of death,
a voice once rendered to life.
It travels among the meadows,
like the hush of a lone gale of wind,
or footfalls among broken leaves.
Like the lone call of a mighty wolf,
the lone cry of hate
The perennial voice floats,
untouched by death.
Untouched? or is it death itself?
disguised among the stillness,
perpetual yet perennial?
dead yet immortal?
Infinite hours in exile, the echo resurrects itself,
arises, yet again. Timeless.
As the eye fails to see, and the mind fails to read,
the nocturnal voice continues its cycle.
Of perdition, of death.
Of lies and faith.
Of destruction,and pain.
Incessant, upon the darkest of nights,
waiting , thriving, hidden beneath its veil,
the echo whispers a lullaby of death,
and puts the angst to sleep,
as it drinks from the very depths of human weakness,
and possesses, the very being.
Let the harvest come,
we will dance under the bleeding moon above,
and join the eternal cycle of suffering.
As the confined earth, and surrender,
to the ever haunting being.
The immortal echo.The haunting echo,
as it vanishes, waiting to reform.
waiting, for all that is etheral
all that is immortal.
The voice once pure of wrath,
of grimace and hate,
has proved to the mighty being,
it is just as strong as thee,
just as symbolic, just as painless.
Just as devoid of materialism.
The echo,
resembles me.