Helpless

It's past midnight and the doors
Of my vision I haven't bolted.
Still in deep thoughts, I'm unable to sleep.

I close my eyes and those
Images and words cluster around
the periphery of my subliminal vision.

Aeons have flashed by and days have crawled
That face, so bright, still veils itself
That voice is now no more than a vestige of my imagination.

Weeping has become a luxury
I'm beyond shedding tears over and over
Hidden dreams make space for hidden sorrow deep down.

I smile, and truly, too; but the night
entertains its regular visitors of salty water
And I drown, as deep as ever
And my own self can never save me.

The Chosen One

He was a poet in prose
A carnation among the rose.
His silence said a thousand words,
His tears beneath that unmoved veil never showed.

As bright as the Andromeda,
His eyes, they shone when we smiled together.
Today, a thousand miles apart,
We still remember those exact words regardless the weather.

He was The One,
Faraway Pluto's shining sun.
His conversations were a nightingale's symphony,
Touched with nature's harmony.

Oh yes, He is away today.
But these eyes still shine whenever He smiles.