It is a Valley of Ghosts.
With imprints of lives
Frozened in it's space.
Let to sit and overgrown in time.
With all it's greens
And it's windy chimes.
The laughter and sighs
Of the magnificent climb,
Is what the mountain holds.
And every step of the way
Will be forever gold.

Your soft breath upon my face
It slithers through the feathers of my hair.
The scent of your skin,
Presses me into tender dreams.
As your eyes gently lift up to meet mine.
I hastily drifter mine.
As your stare rolls over my face.
My timid eyes ended up staring
Onto the swiftest corners of your body.

What would I say, if you caught my gaze?
A simple taste of desire,
Has left my body, caught in fire.
Fever it is, that deep look on your face.
As the room spreads out the moment
Into a lifetime, into ocean and space.
And again my lips trembles,
As the tip of my tongue tries hard,
To lick away the dry and delicate circumstance.

You rub your fingers on my arm
Playfully with a soft disguise of empty eyes.
I know you're staring at me.
You know I'm staring back at you.
What more do we need,
In this moment of truth?
No words will suffice.
Except for a gaze in your eyes.

Something that grow and grows and goes
Through doors and more and glows.
But in time it blows and draws,
The life out of your clothes.
That's when you sleep and snores
Till cold creeps, dry your bones.
And all you know went and gone.
All of life dead and drawn.

You know me, you see me.
But most of the time you deny me.
I'm a part of you, everyone of you.
One day you'll realize me.
That is the truth.

I'm not a fantasy, I'm reality.
I'm the night to your day.
I'm the end to your cautious.
Yet not free from your emotions.

When I come, I'll run your river dry.
I'll be the reason of your heartaches.
But that is when I see you,
At your purest.

The sea sings,
Of long forgottened things.
And the sailor,
Listen and drinks.
Till his heart gets
Swallowed and sink.

Some feelings are only felt
Adrift on the hair without being dealt.
But sometimes an eruption.
Sometimes a feeling to end all caution.

Empty words creeps up on the lips.
Means nothing. But a forceful whip.
But you end up dragging your silence.
And desolation speaks of your defiance.

Melancholia grabs hold of your marrow.
You cry without tears until tomorrow.
You choose silence to bring you no wound.
But wound it was, that silence groomed.