Lost Song

A silent walk down the path
is but a song-
one that the minstrels know,
secretly of course.
To speak of it
would be harsh
against the backdrop
of the madness
which engulfs us all,
in its terrible consequences.
Our prayers are quiet
for it unravels like streams
of consciousness,
hidden from these mere words
you and me speak in.
Dreams, they be ethereal
in white and black,
like the stars and the sky
and the moon,
the one you wish to hold
and I merely look on.