For whom what was, that was unheard

Let it go, to sleep.
Deep is the slumber that dwells with the morning dew.
Forget that the morning may come and let the shore be washed away.

Scar the night with dreams, pierce what can be seen and forget to let go.
The way to close the door is to leave an open window, let the drafts shut it away.
Forge what may come, lay asleep in slumber of dreams.

See what time drags by, across the distance, let it pass.
Hear the shadows, none care not for what is to pass if the past was to let go.
Fools will call it delusion, insanity and madness, let it slip, none will be the wisest.

Hearken the noise that follows, silence is but a state, for the night is smaller by the hours.
Forgive the night, the moon and the stars.
Fly with the birds of war, follow the stream.

Clamor, for what is, is not no more, no, no more than it should be followed.
Fetch the horizon until dawn and screen the sky for than one star, that one symbol.
Faster and farther, closing into infinity.

Let it forget, for whom it was, for whom it was done, for what it may not have happened.
Let it not dwell, thus the erasure and the cold embrace of memory saved, stored and remembered.
Feel it, fell the night in quiescence, post thought and script.

Write down the hours, write down the wishes, forget not to not forget.
Let it be, that which can be left, since that one, has slept into into the night.
For whom what it is.