Return of the moment.
Dancing between the lines
of what was and that which is
there is no before me
Seeking now, be it only a moment
a breath, a chance to breathe.
The sordid space between our utterances
leave for tangled thought
a mass disorganisation
and communication being the only key,
its lost in its incessant need to be a tool.
And I lose you everyday
between what has been said
and what you were meaning to say.
All there is now is silence.
And nothing is heard but the echo
of a dying sun
as the night comes softly in
softly devour, softly comes the hour.
Time, a traitor, in its non existence
and yet you let me lead
and a movement of moment,
is just seed for your regret.