Tragedy turns with exaggerated expressions --
never pausing to consider moderation.
It is not a moderate endeavor.
There is no graceful movement;
no comfort in its dance.
Only the Whirling --
Turning with wild abandon to the dark.
Tragedy is passion spent -- a residence for sorrow.
It languishes in broken songs.
It has no rhythm worth remembering,
no harmony binds its word.
There is no rhyme to slow its pace --
only dischord -- flat sounds --
a disenchanted melody punctuated by broken hearts.
