12 July, 2014


The sound of your darkened voice
is a winter, suddenly lost.

I'd never felt your ancient heart
so visibly soft.

Your sadness crackles over invisible lines
while I gasp for breath.

Leftover guilts and past inactions
test current faiths.

Cycles, always present, proving themselves,
erupt in fear and surprise.

Lost time's price is itself.
Nothing can pass without transfer of funds.

The weight of regret lengthens,
steaming and unforgiving, in the chest.

Happiness depends on belief's suspension
ruined by drastic failures.

Where were we then, before all was lost
and how will we return?

Your heart is stopped by another's inability
and mine screams out too.

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