Winter's cold creeps in through my skin
As aching I go, shaking still lines
Handwritten in a mordant and virulent pen
From my mind, still feeble, old and afraid
Hoards of musty nightmares infuse the darkest
Of my day-lit, lonesome dreams
As I in self-exemplified exile sit
Still stinging from that aching blow
Once cherished one, where lie you now?
Where can I go to find you?
Where can I stand or walk or run,
When you have left without me?
No comments:
Post a Comment