Pretending it wasn’t over, was not going to be much use, For, to feign forgetfulness, was not his cleverest ruse, The floods had stopped, but the wreckage remained, And everything around him, had forever been stained. Over time, even the
When darkness becomes a stranger to the night, And there no longer is an end to broad daylight, When the moon and the stars separate upon a fight, And yet he never doubted his future was bright. If there was
It was trivial, I though it didn’t even merit such a fight, She thought not, and refused to acknowledge my plight, I tried telling her, that she knew not all the facts, Unconsciously, she told me, that I knew nothing.
The closer he went like a light-craving moth, The farther he seemed from her, like her wroth, Like the helplessness in him, his actions had wrought, Less better tidings, the day’s moonlight brought. There was once a time, when his
He begins another day, fishing in the waters of his mind, He knows not, if that lost object he will ever again find, It will never repeat, even if only to again remind, Only its memory, a vague sketch, it