all this silence in the world when
there is no song and the doorman with one-hundred faces and one smile opens the door
I wonder what I will say to him
and
why

there is a feeble stream of heat wiping a lowered sliding window
feels like a heart so alien apart splitting it's strings in roads
to memories so long forgotten, dead for the life of men
or even light
but I am there not by my soul nor eyes, nor shadow of a thought, tho through my dust which drifts in future as in past
tensed in the moment so that I can tell
there is no end
just wind which splits us from the shell

breath in, breath out and bid it farewell -
that is the way of life
the power of the will