At some lengths are the talks of the beautiful mornings,
And slightly withered away are the promises long held with our words.
Long lost is the colour bright of our destinies,
Yet pending on our lips is the hope of seeing the beauties left to be seen.
Almost everyday is the talk of moon and stars,
Something lost, something gained, and amassed amongst us are these.
Even if one unsaid word is enough to ignite love that’s gone,
These moon and stars already have enough on their heavenly plate.
In a time long gone, I wished to separate me from ours,
It was me who had such knowledge of all time being the unknown.
They heard me better, vividly, nicer and closer,
And now, after years, I don’t know, if my words pay homage to them or not.
Enough is the misery, a closer hint to what’s about to come,
Probably an end, affectionately a better start to a better world.
Read More: https://thewritersage.com/thousands-alone/
