days

each day spills over unnoticed,
like the last few coins in a beggers purse.


the moon, the mountains, the wind, the sun,
nothing stirs the depths of oblivion.


there's a fine line between pain and numbness.
like the thin edge between acceptance and despair.


strange is lust for life. so beaten,
the hunger still doesnt abate.


a hundred winters have come and gone,
a hundred springs followed.


but still, the cold numbs fingertips.
knowing that it will pass, makes it no easier.


the river, that steals from a hundred banks,
still weeps when robbed by the ocean.


hours slip by unnoticed. dreams, hopes, passions,
spill unheeded like blood now lifeless.


outside, the wind howls.
strange choreography.


the moon, narrow and long, is a bittersweet smile.
the stars are dying: slowly, unnoticed.


another day is folded and put away.
carefully, slowly, lingeringly, let go.

bargains are struck and stuck to.
however dear the price.


faded daisies, crumbling dry,
carefully stored in notebooks. and big brown envelopes.