Ballads may not sound urgent, but they are.
They are born from an intense longing.
A raw awareness of the heart.
This may be the the most exhausting form of obsession regardless the dilemma.
And in its shallow rhythm it still screams of urgency.
My voice may be weak from the toll the hurt has taken.
My heart may be heavy and in a thousand pieces.
Still this ballad I have summoned,
Fills the distance between us like a beautiful storm.
Just as there is quiet in the noise,
There is noise found in the quiet.