Riddle XXXXIX

Storm breathing the winds...

     Beyond the most northern well at this sandcaslting bliss world's lingering end; Wounds read the derelict hope disclaimer never sought, Screaming unwillingly translated numb tongue tangents of ghosts unto those pretending to exist within the dead perimeters of continuous 'happiness...' Woe... Unto existing within the silence of... Whatever we've found to occupy!

In lieu of our participation in,
Agreeing to silence...
When only a smile,
Was needed...!