A man of sensibilities
A man of sensibilities
Is an admirable man
He talks about philosophy
His love for books
The first bluebells of spring.
A man of sensibilities
Wears well-ironed shirts.
He wants to please the eye
Like he gladdens the heart
Of all whom he encounters.
A man of sensibilities
Has a disciplined mind.
He measures his words, his gestures
His lies.
Respect his presence inspires.
A man of sensibilities
Once broke my heart.
He never commented on it, he never addressed it
His sensibilities would not allow for it
He was better than that.
Play
Play this melody.
It makes me dance.
It brings me delight.
Take.
Take a minute to dream.
It feels me with life.
It gives me solace.
The sun is already up.
I never thought time would fleet like that.
My books are empty.
I’m yearning…
Paint me
Paint me.
My hair is turning white
My eyes are turning grey
My heart is turning black
I fade.
I forget.
Keep me.
Force me stay
As a ghost, as a memory.
I don’t want to dissipate.
Darkness, darkness!
The cold is wasting me away.
Emptiness
Emptiness is black and sticky
Like tar
Like spoiled Coca Cola.
I walk down the street
It’s raining.
The pavements are grey and dirty
Tree leaves flutter to the ground dully
The people pass by hidden behind their brown umbrellas.
I try to remember
There is nothing to remember.
I arrive home.
The door is dark blue
My pigeonhole is full of spam
I get inside.
The sun has set behind the clouds.
Soon it will get dark.
I.Decipher 