of sentiment untold
to the bridge above the waters of retreat.
what once my own
beyond the greatest knowledge of ideals
where tales of gossip flickered some place else
from a fragile mind of curious intent
to the end of days. gregorious yet dull;
the bitter side of tragedies that bare
my own self-worth of laughters hidden scroll
to the hideaway as sleeps eternal youth
as grey as I with one less thought each day
to while away all hours of a sun
that once dared walk me past half sodden woods
with light enough to pardon me a crawl;
how far away each tale of cities cold?
the whole of all as rests each lesser thing
I am but one beside such living things
that dwell inside each corner of a mind
where nothing but the quietness I own
in differing light more heavier than I;
this is where I am.
this is me;