Bitter

When the moon turns bitter and cold, The night starts whispering tales untold. No caress remains without a scar— No hand can heal what nights unbar. You're not just thirsty for the day, But for a wine that fades away, That pours from dreams you used to chase— Now lost in time, now out of place. A prisoner trapped in silent breath, A cage that sings the song of death. Your wings forgot what flight could be, Your wounds remain—no remedy. Forget not who you used to know, Before the fall, before the snow. Look at your fading self tonight— Those eyes that once were full of light. The trembling hands, the tightened throat, The bitter tale you never wrote. Where did your sweetest childhood hide? When did the night steal stars from your eye? Now every breath you take is thin, And “she” who lived in you grows dim. Alone you walk the endless sand— Where is the wine from my own hand? Where did you go with feet so bare, Into a storm no soul could bear? You sleep beside the silent flame, The dawn arrives, but not the same. You built from nothing, dreamed too deep, But now your house falls in your sleep. A root was burned, a soul was spared— But was it life, or just despair? A soul that will not bloom or bend, A body waiting for the end. Still walking through this crowded sound, Until the sky weeps life awake...