The temptation is towards silencebut the noise always seems to win.I yearn to empty my days of everything but you.I’ll be burnt but I accept the scars.See, morning is nothing without a dream to chase,but while the waste of a generation fadesand days wait only for the moonlight,my world illuminates in the dark,where death is a spark,a spike to the heart,when all is unsaid,and the hunger is fedI contemplate greedand the silence becomes nothing but a reason to bleed.The ink is a seedand everything chases the sun.- Chris Eyes