Cliché

 

I drank from a cup of old shadows

Until I got drunk on my own thoughts

Fell somewhere in-between the seconds

Ticking away from a faceless wall clock

 

I used to collect hours of your touch

Now I only collect specs of fallen dust

As I float like some forgotten whisper

In a dream that only came to me- once

 

The best of who I was is now a ghost

Meandering in fragments of my hearts home

Following wisps of your imaginary image

Grasping words your breaths no longer breathe

 

Beneath a slow moving overcast skyline

Waves beat incessantly at shattered…ice

 

Poet of the Light © 2020

22 thoughts on “Cliché

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