Thursday, December 11, 2014


There comes a time when it all ceases to exist,
Moments turn into memories and time slows down,
The importance for someone ceases to survive,
Pushed to the brink of nonexistence, the absence thrives,
A buzz in the ear, a pain in the heart, words unsaid,
All dying, rotting in the hidden confines,
The eye sees just a blur, the light just streaming past,
A charm walking back, walking away,
Taking the light, the color, the vigor, the energy,
Taking the will and the hope, and the strength, to go on,
It all vanishes, with time, and there bloom new flowers,
There return those butterflies, spreading the aura, of light,
There wafts back the aroma, the smell of the fresh grass,
And the birdsong, the dew glistening in the light, the first light,
But the soil remains as is, a mass of muck, and grime, dead,
Layers over layers, rising atop each other,
Unseen to the world, going unnoticed,
It wishes to be seen, not dug, but washed,
To be cleansed, with the color, rinsed in the light,
Bathed to remove the bonds of the past,
But it’s all about the illusion and the perception,
Pretence is all that exists, and I just pretend I don’t miss you.