We carve a language
From truth and nothing

Each word exceeding a hundred letters

A thousand

Our screams dying in the dark

Each word dying to pass
Our shredded lips
Each sound a growl of rage
Or of confusion

Too bad dark languages rarely survive

Now I am left with nothing
But a whisper

And the sanctimonious curl
Of your fingers

As I seek the words
To reinvent this useless language
Even as I realize
It's not enough to keep you here

Time will die
Pass from me slowly
Like the sanctimonious rasp of your voice
That burns me raw
Telling me I've given up more than these words

And that I will never see your eyes
In mine

Again

Penned by my hand on the 19th of Severin, in the year 132 MA.