Silence of forlong voices
Of echoes once bright
Of thoughts once pure
And shades of choices
Was that the chance of eyes sparkling
To feel that warmth, that ray
Was it ever to feel a foundation
Without it ever crumbling.
Was it ever meant to fill a hollow
Of that dead tree stump
With slack in the wind
Of a dead plant gone fallow.
A hollow that once was
A shrivel and meek thing
Was it ever meant to be
Of pain never to find cause.
Of a cursed brand a hot iron
That which afflicts without
That which afflicts within
Of no greater noose to tighten.
Of comparisons made
Of thoughts judged
Punishments dealt
And of compassion delayed.
To which lie was it greater
The lie of certainty
Or of that ignorance
Of ideals held to smother.
Gwyn is an introspective and anxious individual with a love for the melancholic tunes of life, be it music or story, Gwyn finds himself entangled in its void. Writing, especially poetry, helps to offer him a raw and unfiltered outlet to express feelings too complex or heavy to speak aloud. His themes often circle around loss, identity, and the silent struggle for inner peace. In all aspects of life, he struggles with the idea of truth and how to live genuinely without the lofty expectations of society and its gaze gleaming down on him, pushing and probing him to be something that he does not wish to become.