In the living room,
Cold, hard and disheartening silence
Linghers in the air like some putrid,
Sordid stench from the dying and the slain
On the battlefields.
In the dinning hall,
Sounds of battle emerge from the
Colliding cutlery amidst the echoing
Nothingness, the absence of voice and laughter
Amongst the ingestions.
One sole soul stands,
Alone and yet not along in this
Abyss, this hell, if life and conversation
Was heaven. And yet not alone as it stands with
Cold statues of stone.
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