Heart, where is thine home in this
hollowed, yet mellifluous world?
Does its meek beat reside between
scarce meadows of ephemeral vows?
Where the color of corroded copper
lingers in the aftermath of longing; slow
painfully slow
and fingers gently grasp
the concept of fog;
its ghostly tenants never meant to behold
resonance within resonance within resonance;
yet still, you get lost in the silence of words.
© fey (25/05/26)