brooding in the shadows, words swimming in my mind
this ephemeral silence outside do not reflect in kind
the maelstrom of words, turning tides to storms within

epiphanies evade me as I contemplate the means
in which to answer the questions left in my dreams
these harbingers whispering like leaves in the wind

the solace is sweet only in the dead of sleep
when dreams do not come at the bitter hours of night
how can I dance to this languorous tune
that left me beating at my own heart.

when? A simple question
when, when will I see her again…

(c) 2015 allen simpson

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