Suffocating silence; insolent noise; the pendulum swings us into the grave. Extreme to extreme, neither reaching its full, the one falls back into the other.
What silly mutterings are these, these overripe tears?
All is vain! All is vain!
Then why do you speak?
Because . . . Because . . .
A voice in the darkness is not a vain thing. In this effervescent world of shadows, there’s yet endearing light.
There is no light, only darkness.
How so there’s darkness without the light? What is noise or silence if there is no harmony? What is death without love?
Tale Told 