Whispers of the Forbidden

The pitch black moon whispers the forbidden rhymes to the lake;
The little black fish left sleepless hears their words;
And in the heat of the night a dominating silence befalls the lake,
A silence not even the dabbling of the bigger fish of the lake on the next day can shatter.
They have to separate,
The moon forced to turn silver again,
The little black fish forced to leave the lake
And the lake stuck at the force of its rigidity.
The silence is torn into three, each of them bearing one part,
That's when it becomes unbearable,
The quiet, the silence, the muteness, the lacking of every word and every sound,
In such a loud world.