Sinicism in springs QUESTION?

I've lost the will to live.
I've gained it back again.
Put pen to paper, took it back and sent it off from when.
I have spelled the creative process in a field of seated dreams.
And when I found the maker, I sewed each of it's seams.

What seemingly see's the bridge of time, became the sea that carried me by.
What forages and leaves rustled in the wind, told the sound to begin.
But as the life ebbed from windows break. The tear away, signal, for signals sake.
Became a sound cacophony wide, the seldom see in suicide. Elevated from unbridged pride.
An all at once epitomise, blessed from the digressed of empty life.

All at once the world span silent gain.
I lost the iridescent fame.
The peace raptured, while cold at heart, sound sang to impart.
Loyal indignation spread, like fireflies in spring.
As life ebbed to begin.

The break on to another shot, as if silent to it's cause.
Those pleading souls played helplessly, with its beating Sinicism.
Bridge to another came the silent hum.
And the fullness of beginning sung.
An as time had been forever, clever, feverish in it's splendor.

the night told it's tale once more, away from ears and sight on floors.
there was no one left to hear, at the end!
No one to defend or notice the question?