Silent Whispers, Loud Cries

I hear some silent whispers in the depth of the night,

Which urge me to wake up to their lamenting calls.

And look for a fountain that has been long lost,

In the darks of a ghastly shadow, caused by a tenebrous light,

Where spirits locked up in captivity of the rusty walls,

Are dying for the want of the water which comes only at a cost.

And here am I, fighting a war within, which isn't even mine to be fought,

A war between fatal consequences and the actions leading to them,

A war which has no single end, neither no winner, nor no loser.

For the captive spirits are to stay that way, strangled in the dark with frayed rope,

Neither alive, nor so much as dead, until the elixir from the fountain is sought,

And left for the spirits to feast upon after an era of pitiful yearning.

The fountain that is lost shall resurface again when the war wears down,

Because it is lost, but not dead, yet, the fountain that is hope.