I've gotten so used to isolation
that a deserted island is home
the sea of despair is a continuous whirlpool of void
emptiness is the sun
and the sky is crying for me
eyes tired
then eyes closed
and the mind took over
for one who exists behind the shadows,
how mundane it is to dream, to wish,
that someday
someone will get lost
in my forgotten shore
like a siren without a voice
her life is a soft hum
a melancholic peace
she's not out to lure but to give rest
thousands of fishermen have kissed her lips and fleeted
and every time
before they go, she hums a lullaby of happiness
that it's okay and you could leave her
but when the ship is a tiny blip in the ocean
she opens her mouth
and sings.
Jan 2, 2017
Jan 2, 2017 at 6:54 AM UTC
I've gotten so used to isolation
that a deserted island is home
the sea of despair is a continuous whirlpool of void
emptiness is the sun
and the sky is crying for me
eyes tired
then eyes closed
and the mind took over
for one who exists behind the shadows,
how mundane it is to dream, to wish,
that someday
someone will get lost
in my forgotten shore
like a siren without a voice
her life is a soft hum
a melancholic peace
she's not out to lure but to give rest
thousands of fishermen have kissed her lips and fleeted
and every time
before they go, she hums a lullaby of happiness
that it's okay and you could leave her
but when the ship is a tiny blip in the ocean
she opens her mouth
and sings.
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