Awaiting lonely souls, trying to move away from an existence on earth,
deprived of love and hope, being kept from secrets of life that would’ve kept them safe from malicious harm.
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Silently, the night rests upon it’s laurels, awaiting the sleep
Whispering tales of peaceful journeys through colorful dreamslent from heaven.Keeping all in a serene contemplation, if only they wouldrecognize it for what it is.Placing a hold on wakeful endeavors, letting sleep befall everyone,so their minds can confirm the dreams they will dream throughouteternity.
Curving around the isolation of my being,
Taking extra time to become what I need to beas I fall asleep in the interim.
Raking memory leaves into colorful piles,
Savoring each and every one, treasuring their essences,keeping them safely tucked inside where only I can go.
Patterns of extreme decoration fall upon my sight as I sit in a book, writing away my heart in deference to an unwielding manner of sophistication.
Secluded from an entire lifetime, sequestered in folds of yesterday’s misery and faulty thinking.Solitary openings into nether worlds even shut themselves before I can enter, trying to escape this inferno of undeniable hell on earth.Losing all identity, forgetting who I am as I pass into nothingness and am disapprovingly gone.
A poet’s world is a lonely one from all appearances.
surroundings or people.Inside, deeply quiet, keeping pace with serene wanderings of thesoul.Curiously seeking out new experiences and placing them in memoriesnewly created.Wondering, tuning in to inner whisperings, carefully not letting themstray too far.Hiding on cloudy days to stay inside and play happily alone with ideasand images of my own doing.Vibrating the core of all being…