Words fail to capture what the heart endures

A simple smile, a soft tone; bewildering, bewitching, casting somber tones of efficacious pleasantries

It wisps within, between the visage and paltry stoicism; it yearns to seek more

On sombre sands, a flower gently grows; does the night beseech its colors whole? Or would the sun set forever upon a glowing ghost?

Questions gaze at me like windows, cold and rife with frosting edges, the frame growing blue and stained with doubt casting shadows wider than the days are long

To seek solace, the questions wane; until tomorrow, wrought refuge in the arms of a voice that calls to things which echo "home" brings insalubrious candor

The only wicked thing here is believing truth is merely fabricated, and the destination can only ever be fantasy..