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Towers of smooth white ivories,

Proudly standing above the bunch of fresh chrysanthemum and white lilies.

Prepared by the psalms of broken-hearted,

Gifts, for the laying being with an unwavering smile that almost haunting

Bound with a curse of surprising stillness of forever.

Fate would do its part, together with towers,

Destined to be born, only to starts dying.

Uplifting the unprecise echoes of chanting,

And memorized magic spells of the unsettlings.

Shadows would do its purpose,

Gradually diminishing the echoes along with towers of ivories that slowly retiring.

In time, sounds became crystal soft whispers,

Precise and recognisable,

Hence blended with few fresh chrysanthemum and white lilies.

Till the last tower remain standing, but it will never meet its terrible faith

Instead,

Flowers will start to withered,
Whispers will turn silence,
And psalms becomes unspoken prayers,

For the last bearer of the unfortunately cursed of forever.

Until the day miracle showed its kindness,

And let a wandering soul learn,

How to sing the ancient hymn that rightfully belongs to the deceased.

_Darkcamelot~