He feels so alive,
His glow still touches my eyes,
His laughter seems to crackle besides,
His voice seems to call from behind.
But, he's here to be there,
Up there, in the damp skies!
Disappeared into the nothingness,
Tired of the world's gruesomeness.
He played along,
He played every song,
He still seems to strive,
In this glorious art's beehive,
Yet the words chalk out his disappearance,
Yet these syllables call out only to his inheritance.
I stand still falling in his abyss,
This world stands afar, amiss,
It won't be the same with reasons gone,
It won't be the same with a heart that morns,
It won't be the same, devoid of their witty dart,
It won't be the same, devoid of artless art!
****
April 30, 2020
YOU ARE READING
Another Tale
PoetryA soul and the alley ahead. There is nothing much to say about this one in all seriousness!
