Speechless is the word.
Poetry is too loud...

Each figure is silence
shrivelled...

Breaking from them to
find who I was, seeing there...

We argue to learn.
Owing to our argument...

These weapons are made
with bad intents otherwise...

Chasing herself as
fast as running from herself...

Wolves disguise as lambs,
though still slaughter lambs like wolves...

Horizon is the
conundrum of terminus...

It shines in your eyes
before it is dulled with what...

Endlessly looking
in the things that tend to end...

Stretching our branches to prospect
spreads our roots in the pasts...

"Why is the fading flower so sad?"
-Asked the tearful child...