I wrote stories, you sang
It was pretty but sad
For poets aren't birds
And I never could fly
You stayed with me though
Regret in your eyes
You kept soaring higher
While I watched the sky
It didn't take long and
Regret turned despair
You pushed me once, hard
But that was enough
For I never could fly
Ancient dreams linger in dusty corners,
Waiting for the sun to come.
Hoping, hiding, lost, not found.
The darkness calm, the silence warm.
Above, galaxies wander through eternity,
Glittering with blue and purple hues,
Unaware, they make us human again.
For a little while.
But sleep never settles, only teases,
As if aware of life's vastness:
Broken possibilities, tender promises.
Silver fog spreads across the horizon.