In the gushing of his dreams, he strummed the breeze, calming the dark nights from the loud whispers of pain.
Sorrowful abode of muffled voices dispirited of its silent thoughts.
Maiden laden in white pears of winter, ripened in dewdrops of cherry nectar.
Forget the path that leads to my grave and the stars in the void of my darkness.
I repose by the lullabies of the moon, tranquil, soothing like quiet rivers.
Tepid strums in sedated tempo, dancing with sea breeze.
For I learnt to love the storm, its deafening voices became my song.