There’s a sad air that resides here, it came when the rain began it’s long spell
It sits with me as a ghost, an old friend that I have forgotten about
It sits with me by candlelight, and watches the flam flicker along with me
Curious it wanders across my room, looking at old relics of happier memories, wondering were it all went
The low hum of the roof being caressed by the rain, it is the only sound I wish to raise my head towards
Outside I look towards the woods, and I see the faint color of faded green
From the slips of my window blinds, I can observe the world with a faint smile
As the night begins to set, the rain is still blessing us with its presence
So I sit with another candlelit moment, as the ghost and I read our stories, to escape the world we breathe in now
Now the morning has come, and I’ve seemed to run out of candles
The ghost weary from its restless slumber, as am I
Another day it seems has come to fruition, another one with the smell of rain
As if the world is on a cycle, or merely my mind has begun to bleed reality, into my own dreams
Jul 31, 2015
Jul 31, 2015 at 11:35 PM UTC
There’s a sad air that resides here, it came when the rain began it’s long spell
It sits with me as a ghost, an old friend that I have forgotten about
It sits with me by candlelight, and watches the flam flicker along with me
Curious it wanders across my room, looking at old relics of happier memories, wondering were it all went
The low hum of the roof being caressed by the rain, it is the only sound I wish to raise my head towards
Outside I look towards the woods, and I see the faint color of faded green
From the slips of my window blinds, I can observe the world with a faint smile
As the night begins to set, the rain is still blessing us with its presence
So I sit with another candlelit moment, as the ghost and I read our stories, to escape the world we breathe in now
Now the morning has come, and I’ve seemed to run out of candles
The ghost weary from its restless slumber, as am I
Another day it seems has come to fruition, another one with the smell of rain
As if the world is on a cycle, or merely my mind has begun to bleed reality, into my own dreams
