Such a finely honed sword is this loneliness Slicing through tenuous sinews of yesterday. I search for obscure corridors of happiness Knowing that somehow I forgot the way. From gloomy clouds I harvest the sorrow Dripping into the cupped hands of my heart. For there is no optimistic promise of tomorrow As I curse my ship and unintelligible chart. How bitter sweet this gateaux of quiet solitude I garnish it with sprinkles of immense silence. For loneliness is but a mere shift of attitude From peaceful design to destructive violence. I gather the jigsaw pieces of empty conversation Falling snippets swirling on the winds of sound. A soliloquy of madness expressed in futile oration In chilling isolation the laughter of my soul is bound. I strain to catch the words swirling on the breeze Yesterday was surely a symphony of chatter. This finely honed sword cuts deeply with ease And though I bleed... it surely doesnt matter.
Posted on: Tue, 13 Jan 2015 19:17:24 +0000
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