From Inside

I look upon the face of beauty

Thinking, why does it always slip past,

Onto the second road down,

By where I used to live,

Onto the third house along

Where my neighbour died in her sleep?

 

It seems to always be this way

In the turning of the days.

Staring from the window, life drifts along.

 

Mustering all that might,

Even then, it does no good.

As I watch the face of beauty stride along,

From the window, bathed in forgotten song.

 

Sitting, I yearn to think,

Of a world where I might not be on the brink.

Just one day, one sweet time.

Hoping, of course, under the stars,

Under the sun that lights the face of beauty.

 

Clockwork days

And all-together nights.

Building in the fray, well… something might.

 

Years gone, days gone, hours too,

Pondering questions of beauty, self-love.

Each morning, the enemy stares,

Right back at me, glaring, accusatory, hateful.

And in window, from the corner of my eye.

I watch as beauty walks calmly by.

 

 

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