Futility

A place in my heart that knows its own uselessness

When the dance becomes as slow
as the winter night is long
The singers voice deepens a rift
as softness replaces the strong
A long trial with little hope
to skirt the edge of our mistake
The fissure opens widen maw
of empty sentiment partake
No longer a singer nor dance
the endeavor sorely mismatched
Hollow words echo the chasm
but the arbitrary silence lasts
Raging hunger drives the mind
finding dissension in cold calm
Before the abyss of resonant loss
a singer sees no hope to carry on
The rift turned fissure welled
widened to chasm and into abyss
A drawn out dance ended
the song a whisper easily missed.