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full of potence...
she stands in the rainfall and mourning
with eyes that are the avatar of sadness
she sings and her voice reaches echoes
and where in the shadows people hide
they decide to stay from the light
and her voice reaches their unhearing ears
only saved that the echoes are remnants
of the song of sadness, tainted with failure
a voice akin to entropy to those who hear
perhaps the keen of the banshee to mortals
her song so pure it is made so deadly
for her heart lies below concepts of depth
no echoes of what was, no longing or waste
just the mounful song of what remains
her potency would kill those in thrall
... and time waits
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