The night carries a sombre melody
on its wings, when emotions are raw
and we cry and we wail, but who will remember
those who passed quietly into the night?

Now phantoms, gone like the wind
rustling leaves. A force that can’t be seen, but felt
as it snakes its way through a labyrinth
of concrete jungles.

Forgotten ‘I love you’s’ and misplaced compassion
the  air of melancholy is thick and stifling, igniting a
collective mourning that only a few
truly understand.

So we pray and bow our heads, a solemn vow to
give anything if we could turn back time
doleful eyes streaked black with tears and teeth that grit
and fists that clench.

But nothing changes, and the world spins faster
and faster into the future when the futility of hoping
is a fleeting pleasure, dissipating into thin air
what once was a bleeding wound starts to heal and
nothing remains but the raised remains of an ugly scar.

So behind closed eyes dreamers conjure wild fantasies
and decadent dreams
a different night sky, one that begs to be looked upon
streaked with flourescent hues and flashes of lighting
where the stars light up like runway strips, welcoming
the weary traveller home.

And whispers of the ‘gone’ and the ‘going away’
become averted regrets and forgiven sins
where sadness is placed
in a museum of accidents, and the poetics of loneliness
isn’t allowed to exist.