The little fierce in me
looks austere meloncholy
with myriad shades of
glum and glee
as I sit besides
a calm shore
where the waves
weave stories of
miseries untold.
There I wait for the
russet sun to set
and the cloak of night
black as soot
often washed with the
tinge of moonlight
and sheen of stars
to hold me tight
in the night so cold.
I stare at the zenith
and we both
long for love
that seems to fade away
every inch
every iota we move
in its fold.
As the hollowness echoes
I weep I grieve
with the weeping willows
soaked in the morning dew
as the mountians and rivers
grow worn and old
we wither we whine
yet We wait.
We wait for the
auburn sunshine
while the clamour of thoughts
devours the mind body n soul,
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