Sinful Saints

Shadow is cast by truths eclipsing whispers,
darkening the warmth turned cold it does envoke.
Playing such games not far from hearts winter,
with somber shades without mercy nor hope.
How then must we be "we" not torn asunder?
Foolish games for foolish song birds of prey with broken notes.
Yet a song stills sings out, no matter the minor,
tortured souls broken better for it with scar filling tones.
For often it's best to unchoose what one can.
The rest lives on wordless and painful forever,
a watcher of what's been done.

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