Submission

Hanging onto the edges of consciousness,
drifting through past words of sorrow,
no sound could penetrate this silence;
no sound to save and none to borrow.
For sudden sorrow, that sudden sorrow,
I lay upon the black rock bound,
and I see into the lake,
and let the silence echo, resound
take me to fly on angel wings,
escape the darkness and it's thrall,
begone this fog of desolate silence;
the desperation who takes us all.