Purpose sifted into bag of dust  
 Midsummer twilight sprinkled  
 With sporadic stars and clouds  
 A watchful candle- burned out
 It’s been nearly two hours since
 I slipped off in a dreamy realm
 None of which I’ll recall later  
 Sleep is becoming burdensome  
 A luxury I can’t seem to afford
 I burn with an inner fervor, yet
 I shiver under but a thin blanket
 Charity of the lunar moonlight  
 That’s found me here somehow
 Her scent still present but absent  
 Only faint whispers of her voice  
 Remain lingering within my mind
 There’s vacant cold beside me
 Reminiscent of late fall shadows
 As the afternoon sun is falling off
 It wasn’t always like this, before
 When the promise of her words  
 Were spoken in a truthful silence  
 Of her actions, her kisses, touch  
 Now- all that is gone, she’s gone  
 And I’m left to carry on here, alone  
 With no compass guiding direction
 I- merely a heart… without an echo
  Poet of the Light © 2020  

7 thoughts on “Imperfection

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