Whispers encased in crimson lilacs
I used to hear them.
Fatigued but not weary-obscure in all but nature-
Their nature was to grow.
Taunts and backlash,
Spreading through the red wine vines
What a quiescent nirvana-
not a note louder than deep perpetual silence
On the smooth velvet of hostility, lie two broken letters;
Until they fall underneath the ground,
With the rest of things better left unsaid.