What to do, what to do—
Drowning in the tide of you.
Wishing to think out loud,
To tear the silence,
To let the world hear.
Morning unfolds in gold and hush,
Soft light spilling like honey on the earth.
You are the dew,
A thousand silver pearls strung upon the meadow,
Catching the sun’s first kiss.
You are the bird,
Skimming the lake at dawn,
Wings brushing the water,
Leaving trails of liquid light.
But I can only wish to do,
I can only wish to do.
For moments that once blessed me
Now turn me into a fool.
The sun stands high, indifferent at noon.
The dew I once watched from my window—
Glistens, untouched, in a stranger's garden,
Dancing beneath his gaze.
The skimming bird has taken flight,
Its shadow falling here,
But the light does not return.
And now, all that’s left is—
.
.
.
Sorry.
Feb 10, 2025
Feb 10, 2025 at 11:09 PM UTC
What to do, what to do—
Drowning in the tide of you.
Wishing to think out loud,
To tear the silence,
To let the world hear.
Morning unfolds in gold and hush,
Soft light spilling like honey on the earth.
You are the dew,
A thousand silver pearls strung upon the meadow,
Catching the sun’s first kiss.
You are the bird,
Skimming the lake at dawn,
Wings brushing the water,
Leaving trails of liquid light.
But I can only wish to do,
I can only wish to do.
For moments that once blessed me
Now turn me into a fool.
The sun stands high, indifferent at noon.
The dew I once watched from my window—
Glistens, untouched, in a stranger's garden,
Dancing beneath his gaze.
The skimming bird has taken flight,
Its shadow falling here,
But the light does not return.
And now, all that’s left is—
.
.
.
Sorry.
