Blindly go the fingers prying
Eyes still crying, dreams still try
Try to be, to grasps the dying,
fading day beneath the sky

We ran the mile... for a little while
We shared a tear and drank its drug
Lay a lie, a smile, on a dusty aisle
The dying shrug, the grave we dug
Another pattern on the ragged rug
Crumbs and stains
Fear and chains
Ghosts
And silence
reigns
A hollow mind spread on the floor,
the heart, unknown behind the door
A worn out pen still writing “when”
When... when... when...
.. and another when..
..then...
Patterns forming and deforming
The sky returning
Boiling, glowing
With a morning’s mourning
-Yawn-
...
dirges in the dawn