The deathly silence of the night
creeping upon your shoulder,
its stealthiness, disarming your mind,
choking, the world colder.
No sense of liberty, no victory.
Only a pathetic, sad, little story.
Shunned, thrown away,
Pushed to the periphery.
Solitude, once a comfort,
Now suffocating.
You dust, you get up.
But fate’s always waiting.
You question your motives,
Is there any reason to live?
…A star shines
And you feel yourself smile.
A streak of hope still burns bright.
But the question remains,
Will it last the night?
The Bard 