1.

 

Bygone moons,
have waned,

and,
yesterday’s flowers,
silently wilt,

while,
tomorrow’s promise,
recedes.

 

2.

 

Alone,
at rest within my vault,

peaceful, serene, wrapped in hushed tranquil nothingness.

 

3.

 

Yet loneliness stings,
scratching at scabs,

as old wounds,

linger,
fester,

even as,
I mask the ache,

by smearing on,
the smile of a jester.

 

4.

 

Laughing aloud,
peppering moments with banal chit-chat,

while
sipping tea,

quietly suffocating,

asphyxiated by everyday’s shroud.

 

5.

 

The vacuum within,

stays,

ever-present,
always,

through days of feigned mirth,

between lunch and supper,

as the lonesome heart,

rebels,
fights,
screams out,

in a desperate, though muted plea.

 

6.

 

All the while,
the passing parade,

moves on,

leaving me,

to rehash,

scribbled verse,

and,

this sorry charade

 

….