The world has moved on,
Leaving behind a lonely soul
In the shadows of a long-dead sun.
Was it not the purpose?
Was it not the meaning?
Was it not, a question
That no one will answer.
Speak to the stars, dear sage.
Designate their glowing dues
For the eyes of the vagabonds
To lap up and drink in.
Were it not the sweetest drink
Ever to caress one’s palate?
Were it not only a mirage
In the deserted canvas of the mind?
Such sandy ideals and burning desires,
Pinched by the lingering hands of the others,
Who saw all, and heard all,
Then settled down to palaver.
What was said, it does not matter.
All that matters is naught.
Weeping in the willows,
Underneath an overcast sky,
Only one moment,
Forever one moment,
Depleted and worn-out;
Never drawing near to the incoming tides.
The salt of the sea
And the sugary shore,
Stir up an unread bitterness,
Crusading against confused sentiments
Of disbanded tenements,
And a serenity long since forgotten.
Was it ever truly there?
Was it ruthlessly sincere?
Was it merely a broken body,
Withered and alone?
Perhaps all these things and more.
The world has moved on,
And left behind a lonely soul,
In the shadows of a long-dead sun.
The downfall of perpetuity,
It has begun.

shadow sunset.jpg

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Dear Misery

The Past Isn’t Prologue, It’s Nothing

Shadows of Things to Stay

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