Awaited

In the dim shadows of the sleepless night,
A heart pines away in hope of whispered dreams,
Calling out to the Machiavellian lambs that prey viciously,
With sweet words that melt like snow on a spring morning.

Possessing the most resilient of souls with sinful scents
And stirring vanity in the most humble of citizens without mercy,
He lays obsession brick by brick on the path ahead.
Oh, weak heart, heed the painless cries drifting away with the wind
Into the suffocating coolness of the sleepless night.


The sharp angles on the softest skin call out longingly,
To touch, and to heal,
Selflessly.
Who has ever lidded the air?
It drifts hungrily to vacuous lands that lay slumbering,
And then to oceans where the surf caresses it playfully.
You have been warned.