Know.

We all knew we were slowly dying.

While syncing with the manic moods of Myshkin's sweeping spells,
Sterope's sirens warmly whisper wisdom into the withdrawal of each story Ippolit tells.
Frozen in the heart of winter, where we gather the falling flakes of melting cells,
Lies the ardor of Death's embrace condensing to fill our wells.

We all knew we were always trying.

How quickly can we pass through the waves of falling embers?
Swiftly falling back to a time when we could still remember,
How to build castles in the sand and the snow of cold December.
All to find the riches of a treasure you'll soon ask me to surrender.

We all knew we were quietly crying.

For the sake of the naive who lack the gift of foresight.
Waves become stone hurdles they struggle with through the night.
Is the strength of the numbers enough to put up a good fight?
Or will we solemnly attend a vigil with candles ready for a flame to light?

We all knew we were foolishly applying.

Along this new path where opportunity can begin,
Rests a newborn on an altar masoned with the nostalgic stones of sin.
Unprepared for the trip only wrapped in thin skins,
Declaring its ready, fingers hanging loosely from small limbs.

We all knew we were barely lying.

Hearing the epic tales of hero's journey's sung about long ago.
Their skill found amongst the baggage they necessarily were left to tow.
Successfully my scale stays steady the Siren's skewed arching of my bow.
It's measurements marked meticulously, mapping the order of seeds to sow..

We all knew we were tired of sighing.