Soundless, Unspoken

Call it a whisper
Yet give it no name
Speak of it not
Or go recalling its pain
Ashes can not be born
Unto any such castles
Of which anyone is aware
And silence, It baffles

Fire surely follows flame
In all worlds known to be
Just as pleasure sought from pain
Promises hellfire and misery
Wading into those depths
Lends to drowning in salt tears
A dance that's grown stale
Shoes worn thin in passing years

Casting lots with shadows
When hope becomes unclear
Akin to jumping off of cliffs
When death becomes so near
Questioning the path by means
Of an unfailing and unseen eye
Counts all costs of reasoning
More sound than plan or guise

Slippery slopes promote travel
Even when falling seems safer
Lest left holding an invisible rope
Quelled to facing form in mirrors
Kettles run dry, tire of indecision
Find their own teacups, they must
Ending such bid for following dances
Showering histories with certain rust