Bereft of all sound
I weave without care
Through the mournful bends
Of carnage and ruin

Undeterred
By the fuming wreckage
The merciless skewering
Of the high, brazen heavens

Despair eludes me
In this gradual stride
Through the great sprawl of heartache
Bleeding, its plumes of black

All I retain
Are the timid wisps of grey
The constant, numbing refrain
That yields, all for naught

The labyrinth I claim
Pries nothing off my frame
As I traffic unfazed
Through the mournful
Clasp of dismay