Here
lying in the dark
The cold creeps
through the windows of sorrow
Silence pounds
As the night deepens
Sleepless mind wanders
Will I be seeing the sunlight
Of tomorrow?
Will i just skip it
to the dark side?
Here
Staring at the empty ceiling
the old man sleeps in his bedroom
With faded photos
Of black and white
The smell of aged rugs
filled the silent air
His breath sang
The lullaby of illness he carried
The lonely bones
await his departure
But death isn’t his fear, he said
It is dying alone
On the couch of dust
And frozen past
He fears the most
And I’m trembling
Forgive me for the weak I carried
For the strength I never had
For my heartless, my thoughtless
My childhood you missed
My adulthood I wasted
Poetry
I could breathe this bitterly cold night, shivering beneath your shooting star.
I could hold the moon from the sun, the blue sky from the pouring rain.
I could paint the night to be the day of light, and wash our fading age away.
For the silver heart of yours was young and mine,
For the golden skin of yours blessed me with warmth,
For the vigorous arms of yours wrapped me unharmed,
Only if you asked me.
