.
~~
One day you were waiting
your soul singing,
behind an open window,
in front of a large meadow

For the days long
there you made a love song
that blew me so long
grew our love so strong

where never seen any sad,
even days were not at all bad

If I did a little late
that I never forget,
sometimes you made a huff
but between us there was no gap

..
O, the days have gone
If I do not make any wrong
yet the little robin sings the spring's song,
which I bought through my lifelong

But your silhouette,
doesn't go a little far off yet

With a mystic fate
there a pair of pigeons set
yet trying to mate
just before the last breath
.
..
~~
@Musfiq us shaleheen

Darkness.

He settles on my skin like an absent touch; His hands the hands of a past love tracing my outline and raising my skin.

He whispers to me in dreams. What was once, and what could be, he lingers in the thoughts I can't control.
He breathes silence in the space between us, enclosing every inch of my body in his icy exhalation.
He is the coldest of comforts.

He is fearful, but I do not fear him.

His chasm of understanding and attentiveness is an infinite book of blank pages to be filled. He hears me. He listens.

He Is the giver of time that nobody wants. He provides. When I am at war with my thoughts at 3 AM, he is on my side.
He does not lie, unless it is along side of me. On top of me. All around me. He is consuming.  

He is untrustworthy, but I have given him mine.

He is the quietest of melodies. His song cradles me into sleep, and I feel him beside me as I drift away.
When I awake in the morning he has always left, but is never really gone.
In the brightest of rays, I can still see him.

He controls me like an illness, but only with my consent.

Darkness.
If ever I wanted to leave him, would he let me?
Could I cleanse my soul after his touch?  
If I ignored his approach in the eve,
would he still be kind to me when the daylight faded?


I'm afraid to find out.

I have the heart of a believer and the mind of a skeptic
Some say it's a gift, I say it's tragic
I live in a universe of chaos inside my head
Who among us is truly at peace but the dead?

There's more to this,
This thing we call living.
Everyone's all about the take,
What happened to the giving?

We take what we can
And still we want for more.
Receive one or two of something
While wanting three or four

There's gotta be another way,
A way to be grateful.
But when we don't get what we want
Everyone acts so hateful

There's a feeling of being owned,
Before we've done anything
A song that needs to be sung
That we can't even sing

Lyrics to write down
To give our thanks and praise.
But instead we wallow,
Depressed for days and days.

*This might just sound like
A difficult way to live,
But wouldn't be great to take what we take
And give all we have to give.