All I hear are the screams
Of the unresolved
Baying helpless
From the beneath
My extinguished form

I am fated to reap only them
Their harrowing words
Dust storms
Of the mind

In the hold of spring
Are the ever-present sirens
Their continuous haze
That buries
And blurs all paths

And this spring
Is all for naught
For am I fully stocked
Blinded and sullen