like a nagging cankerous wound
morphing into a useless piece of scab
falling, leaving only a salient numb lump
as an eternal reminder of a scar,
loneliness too does ebb away…
like a nagging cankerous wound
morphing into a useless piece of scab
falling, leaving only a salient numb lump
as an eternal reminder of a scar,
loneliness too does ebb away…
as i sit here still,
by the bedroom window in my bliss,
quelled by a lullaby in the wind,
my eyes look past through you,
awed by the moon as it spoke,
a language that was never uttered…
now i fathom loneliness,
even in the interim…
stalked by wistful reveries,
succumbed to waking dreams,
i’m bound to wanton memories
of me with you…
longing, this abysmal prison i’m shackled to…
as i brave myself to write this ode of you,
i will not say that time with you was short nor fickle,
rather i’ll write, that your eyes altered depths
while your lips switched seasons…
this empty void, it hollows me…
weakened and wasted, carefully reducing me to nothingness…
i am alone,
in this room so gloom,
embraced by the colour blue,
inside this poem,
the only words i ever truely knew…
darkness comes again,
and as the last candle melts its wax,
with every breath shallower in the night,
there is nothing left for me to do but,
wait in muted stillness…
i tread on dreams that come and go, silenced and universal
hoisting buckets of my holy water to the shores where
you sit and plainly marvel…
dreams have a habit of becoming real…
you wake up one day disappointed of finding that the dream is no more, but a stark reality…
would you still risk closing your eyes so you can dream again?!
Sleepers talk…