In the dark, these eyes are shut to gray. Inside stained hearts, there is a weight to wield on marches, where hands shield - faces, from the rain. Dirges and dirt, funerals and broken vows to guard against pain. Disconnect me, reconnect belief - in the vivid hurt. All that I grow in gardens of bloodstained petals is the silver cold, the malleable metal. Silver, to the rust of anywhere in the dust. Silver, within the snow with a pain, for all I know. Changing minds, complexions frozen. Familiar hurt, different signs on a road with arms wide open to where I needed to lay in a spot, necessary to stay. Lingering a moment more to view the path towards the door.