This, a few days ago. A little wasted time births poetry from tired mind.
Weeping, the face of your brightness now obscured, beauty in despair
Aranea glistens as frosted morning fades
Within the grey, eyes still bright … stars remember the glory of the day … ah morning, come softly into the quiet of our dreams
I pale as stagnant waters puddle behind my eyes, tired dregs of longing, th3se yesterdays and tomorrows struggle in endl3ss eddies, desperate for release