Greed.

It was by your act which I came to be.

Suspended in an abyss, separate from a world beyond, yet part of it in turn.

The paid word.

What marvellous truths the written word can dispel when when the wealth of the corrupt springs forth to convince all it can of that which is truly right and wrong.

When the rest is gone.

When the wind dies down and the rains have gone, and the animals are yet to stir from their winter slumber, that is a silent time.

From a time long gone and a future made uncertain, such moments are few and far between, moments remembered even less when they have passed despite each being so profound.

When even the sound of thoughts dies down from whisper to nothings, and the breath and heart are again ignored by ear and mind alike.

So comes the silence without warning, quietly announcing its presence, and making itself known only when it has abruptly and long since made itself all there is.

So does it conquer moments in time, subltly and in its own way, too late to change or charge against, for it has already won.

But the silence is a conqueror which can be welcome as well as feared. A moment to embrace, reflect and allow to lead to dream.

As it warms.

Roaming through a frozen world,

Where grasses green from deep emerge,

And from the darkness springs a life and sound.

Old memories.

The memories of the fading lights remain, though years have passed.

That which would glow so strong and strikingly, with frame within them, as a moon in the night sky dims the stars about it.