Such is life. And its only just begun.
I write blue. Sitting next to the golden purple night.
And the droplets of light which used to be stars, sometime ago.
The lamp posts shining a dull bleak white;
they used to be warm, sometime ago.
Cold black wind blows from across the river.
Brushes against my arms. Taking something away with it.
leaves me cold. Paints me black.
It used to be a friend, sometime ago.
Yesterday, even the guitar string broke.
She's given up on me too. Hadn't. Sometime ago.
As the first little rays of the sun open their eyes
I will walk through yesterday night's frost.
In search of that lost part of the past.
I was nothing, sometime ago.