First the sky
lets loose a cloud,
suddenly I'm drowning
in the emptiness of shadows,
the silence of alone.
Vacant now
but revisited often,
the space within
once occupied by you.
The love we shared,
a beautiful mess
of memories
I can't forget.
A grievance of time,
I waste days and nights on you,
pen of black ink running,
writing poety
to express how much
you meant to me.
Truly
words fall short,
a fraction of these feelings
of love,
fragments of heart
devoid of you
yet hopelessly devoted to you.
It is an odd thing
to fall in love with Winter,
the realization
moments are now memories,
a beautiful tragedy.
In the end
what was once freshly beginning
is now rotten and stale.
I stink of regret,
an ache with a desperate wish
I could forget you.
As the night drags on,
the hole within me deepens,
a hollowing sound,
the echo of the moonlight
disappearing into the sea.
Chill wraps around me
an avalanche of snow,
like all flowers destined to decay
without light,
I sink into cold shoulders
of midnight blues.
Missing you.
Is there no fate worse
than death,
except in the suffering
of the living left
grieving the loss of what was
or what will never be?
Perhaps
someday
the sun will see it fit
to shine again,
revive the dead,
wither the pain
within me;
place my heart
on the pedastal
of love's elusive bloom.
Dec 8, 2016
Dec 8, 2016 at 8:36 AM UTC
First the sky
lets loose a cloud,
suddenly I'm drowning
in the emptiness of shadows,
the silence of alone.
Vacant now
but revisited often,
the space within
once occupied by you.
The love we shared,
a beautiful mess
of memories
I can't forget.
A grievance of time,
I waste days and nights on you,
pen of black ink running,
writing poety
to express how much
you meant to me.
Truly
words fall short,
a fraction of these feelings
of love,
fragments of heart
devoid of you
yet hopelessly devoted to you.
It is an odd thing
to fall in love with Winter,
the realization
moments are now memories,
a beautiful tragedy.
In the end
what was once freshly beginning
is now rotten and stale.
I stink of regret,
an ache with a desperate wish
I could forget you.
As the night drags on,
the hole within me deepens,
a hollowing sound,
the echo of the moonlight
disappearing into the sea.
Chill wraps around me
an avalanche of snow,
like all flowers destined to decay
without light,
I sink into cold shoulders
of midnight blues.
Missing you.
Is there no fate worse
than death,
except in the suffering
of the living left
grieving the loss of what was
or what will never be?
Perhaps
someday
the sun will see it fit
to shine again,
revive the dead,
wither the pain
within me;
place my heart
on the pedastal
of love's elusive bloom.
Im not sure what's worse, the breaking or the tedious journey of putting the pieces back together again. The end of holding on, and beginning the process of letting go.
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