And so.

Running deep within this spread, I lay within so close and still.
My heart, beating still without ripples on the softest pond as downy dew seems so sweet;
So I, remain un touched and further still, mountains climb before my quaking soul
beneath my feet , the blades tear my pain bleeding softly into nothing.

Has ever a word spoken softly meant so little than I remain un-seen.
Un heard.
A whisper amongst the branches of right and wrong, boughs breaking to remain strong within the wind that burns me still.
and yet

I remain.