Rushing Forwards

Some nights the ghost of love dies
and is replaced by some bemoaning, sorrowful creature
and no faces come rushing from the mists
to fill the void.

And the stars seem colder and more distant
and the moon has vanished.
The sudden taste of darkness
is bitter and motionless on the tongue.

On nights like that
I cannot help but long for simpler days
when but a single pair of eyes
seemed to cloud my vision
and I strived not for something
but for someone.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s