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By coujeaux Date: 2002 Dec 08 Comment on this Work [[2002.12.08.02.57.8401]] |
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Gentle whispers in darklight melodies are where we confess, For nothing penetrates the silence but this tragic caress. As through my eyes comes the truth, with gazes interlocked, That there is no destination on the way which we've walked. And perhaps it's understood by both, or maybe just from me, No matter what was said, conclusions are all there will be. In the morning after, I will arise and collect my thoughts, Stung with confusion from another episode of parting shots. Should blame become laid, it rests only on a single thread. For it's nobody's fault but my own this is a revolving bed. If there is something to be said for one night, it is this; At the very least it is simpler, left on nothing you'd miss. I suppose tears could be shed, but I refuse to waste my own, Because some moments of sorrow are meant to be shared alone. This trouble will soon be over as my faith starts returning, On that epiphany, I'll remember the feel of proper yearning. My mind is clearing now, in time my soul should follow suit, But until they meet in the middle, any end is rendered moot. |