An Abandoned Poet
Oh! The ambience.
Creepy enough to make a child
cry for its mother.
The dark night, a sky pitched black,
billion fireflies and no moon.
Lying on a grass carpet,
I kept gazing.
My hands then
shivered, mind enraged;
chaos echoed, bursting it,
aiding an end.
Thus comes the nightmare.
Dreams seemed a distant delight,
delight now experienced by
a folk unknown.
My cold feet yearn for the warmth
of a fairy, once acquainted.
I urged, shed the last dried tear.
My possessions lack
a little…
Make me feel alive, muse.
Though I am gone,
bestow a heartbeat again...
An embrace before my final breath.
I am not the poet
to keep me in your thoughts.
I am a spirit
who picked up the pen.
Now, I break the quill.
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