tacenda.

Feelings, that left were somewhere
A tacenda exists in there

A veil of perfections, a guise without flaws
A tacenda of imperfections, a cry for applause

A bird in its flock, so bright and impressive
A tacenda of loneliness, its feathers depressive

Colors of peace, the joy in silence
A tacenda of storms, a fear of violence

The stroke of triumph, alluring to see
A tacenda of struggles, a scant of glee 

It’s good, I say, it’s all good here
Yet a tacenda still exists in there