the sound of chimes in the breeze,
at the time when all are at ease, asleep
the day is done, for all but one
in the night,
where she lies
awake
in the still, in the cold,
in the mind, on her own
and the one
where she longs,
those arms, where they not follow
to whom they should cradle to doze
in them solely lies control
but can she help it
because the shoulder she deems necessary does all but exist,
leaving her only to taste the sorrow in her own tears
the flavor, it only pains her
in the night, the only time she lives
but can she help it
YOU ARE READING
Nocturna
Poetrythis is a series of poetry, and each and every one of them were written as i sat outside, in the middle of the night.
