Lover In the Background
A day feels like mist of the wee hours,
once again I regale myself with
the buzz and the fuss
Coaxing my heart out of sulking
for it is an utter melancholy
and slightly a jest
TO MISS THE WIND KEENLY FELT
BUT CANNOT BE GRASPED
A tad mockery to be often left
by my own home as though giving away
is almost granting the world a consent
to steal from me
Yet I live through those tiny pleasures and loud celebrations ceaselessly shining your humble crown
for even my heart then stands on the highest pedestal
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