Scribbles That Made No Sense

Scribbling through the silence of the dying night
To justify the aftermath of bliss,
Brief and strong with a blinding flash of light.
Nothing comes, not a single word is formed
And together all the wasted hours become
Just another day of desperation.
Afterwards, when the light has come and gone,
Perched high above the common dust and woes
Indifferent towards the striving life,
Each and every drop of blood within
Too weak and slow, creaking from weariness
Seems too much broken for the rapid flow.
The tender faces drawn with mellow love
Seem far away, unreal, almost a lie
As an apathy creeps into the soul.
Just another day of desperate life
To live! Just one more blinding flash of light
To see! After one more verse is scribbled down,
When the hands, eyes and the mind have resigned,
The hour of exodus at last may come.


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