An Old Abandoned Church With Broken Pews And Empty Aisles

Each note, a key to unlock these emotions,
a pathway to redirect every commotion
into a prison so obscure and essential
for me to continue on in this parable.
The art within my soul has grown obtuse,
given me a reason to seek new truths,
but my heart has faltered with this dark tide -
all I once loved seems withered and dried.

What beauty does a world without love hold?
Is this what I want, to be alone and grow old,
regretting every chance had but never taken,
every reality and direction I have forsaken?
Where is beauty without love?

To stand on distant shores, allowing brilliance
to wash over me with unfathomable radiance;
to paint a portrait of ardor on this worn canvas
for the world to see my lonely heart's abyss
and the obsession for contentment I keep inside,
the struggle for affection I continue to deny.
A fragile mind can only subdue what isn't real,
yet cannot forget what it might never feel.

Just what does a heart without passion hold?
Is this what I need, to be forgotten and cold,
repenting every lie I had somehow mistaken
for the humility I could not seem to awaken?
Where is life without passion?

I cannot breathe this tainted air that burns
every time my heart and my soul discern
this sureness that I am losing my senses,
dehydrated from all these lost pretenses.
With the world before me - swallow regret,
set aside these tasks and faint silhouettes
of a nothingness kept inside this fortitude -  
I'll liberate these emotions misconstrued.