The night is young
and I am stung
with the unsung
melodies from my lungs.

Drifting is the moon
like a silver spoon.
She begins to swoon
to my icy tune.

Ravished by lethargy, I sat outside, and gazed at the ground,
Then, thinking, how all the ants and flies went about so sound
About their business, I posed a question in my mind:
Are they aware of our misfortune, or are they blind
And thus continuing untroubled, and so unhindered,
And so thriving...? As we just sit, bewildered,
Inindustrious, confined as mentally
Just as we are physically...
And if we go, dozy giants that we are,
Neglecting of the fact, will it truly matter?

An unwritten epistle,
                            now an epitaph...

When I stare into your distant eyes
I wonder if you were meant for this distant love
If they'd look the same,
If we held on to hope, love
If I saw you face to face
If you saw me face to face.