A writer lost
in thought, I wander far
Beneath a cold and empty evening star.
My shadow stretches down the lonely street,
Where faded dreams and heavy footsteps meet,
And all the vibrant colors turn to gray.
My weeping pen, in silence
and despair,
Now traces lines of grief into the air.
It bleeds the heavy truths that deeply lie,
Beneath the gaze of my defeated eye,
As every joyful memory slips away.
To those with hearts of
anger, I am low,
A shattered mirror in the winter snow.
They only see the flaws upon my face,
A broken thing devoid of any grace,
A hollow ghost of who I used to be.
The eyes of love I seek are
long since gone,
Leaving me stranded in a bitter dawn.
No tender arms are left to hold me tight,
No gentle voice to guide me through the night;
I fade into the dark, where none can see.