I might not have to face today
Although the same was spoken for yesterday.
I will not take a step toward tomorrow-
I will sit and wait.
While the rain purify the air,
I will sit and stare.
While my tears wash my dirty hair,
I will sit and declare-
A lonely life, which is most unfair,
I will sit and prepare,
The eternal nights, into my soul- it glares.
I will sit and compare-
The fallen angels taking flight,
I will sit and try not to be aware
Of neither the minutes nor the seconds that my heart beats;
I watch you go, under the sun’s heat.
I will sit and wait- maybe hours till you return.
I cannot bear the days that I sit and pray,
For the days blacken my soul and darken my eyes.
A pool of tears, I come undone.
I will choose death over the agonizing days—without you.
I will sit and wait,
Till night, then and only then should I meet the angel of death,
For the days are unbearable without you.
I can hear the dead whisper;
Lying silently on their back.
Corpses, gently pack in dirty sacks.
Looking so damn pale
as if murdered in a shallow dale.
Silent rivers and running streams,
a sudden scream, maybe from a dream?
Nor not, pierce gape into broken hearts.
Can you hear it too?
Listen; listen closely for it’s a silent one.
Hear the wind blowing; the leaves of the trees
whispering endless songs about distress.
Shadows dancing slow premonitions.
Oh listen, don’t you know all things importance
is always kept silent.
In the forest at night,
the darkness, which extirpates all lights-
Shame on the stars for shining so bright
on last night’s fallen snow… Another corpse
surrounds me with silent whispers.
Through delicately latticed branches the morning sun is rising,
gently lifting the nights residue fog.
The harbour where peeling boats used to lean
is filled full with a sparkling blue.
A portrait uninterrupted, a fresco renewed with fresh breeze.
Through easy skies a playful bird dances a rhythm all to himself;
such a care-free fellow, no need for human quarrels.
On the pier an old bench, boastful to no man, smiles
and declares to the world that it is still standing!
Patiently it waits for accepting occupant.
Quietly acknowledging anyone that will sit to keep company or pass time,
the old bench watches the waves, so full of life, so adventurous.
Longing to bathe in the shimmering surf but forced into voyeuristic jealousy,
the manifesting clouds of violent hurricanes appear on the horizon.
A reverenced silence sweeps into the harbour, a moment of calm.
Water once silent erupt toward scornful skies,
lost from their innocence to dark figures, flashing smiles of false pretense.
Through the maelstrom, with purpose lost and a growing insignificance,
weary woods discover a fresh sense of revitalization.
‘Harness the wrath of Neptune; offer it in triumph to Apollo. ‘
Shards of frigid waters spew forth, drawing from every form
to pool a complex reservoir, deep and expansive.
They stalk such moments wherein slanted light can evaporate
true meanings and hold them as a cloud; grey and troublesome.
And as the bashful sun shines its brightest,
metaphors pour heavy before the masses.
From the fairest night we took a trip.
Down the same old lane, we had our first kiss.
Under the stars we watch our torn heart strip,
Down to a burden, yet so sweet like bliss.
Giving our hopes without showing mercy.
Fallen angels soar us above the sky.
We had this hunger of being thirsty,
For a love so great that we could never deny.
When we were set out to find tomorrow
Our souls were filled with images so dark,
I looked into his eyes and saw sorrow.
I knew I had to find a light to spark
The life once upon a time we produced
To kind love I need to introduce.