The crack creates a warbled picture,
as the world goes on living, I feel a perpetual still ness. Yet it all moves out there.
The stream of white fluff, gracing the earth.
Awaiting the warmth to once again
give birth to life
As I wait.
Answers? There are none.
As streams of clear, life
Strains across my cheeks.
I can not fix.
I can not mend.
I can only wait.
To sit next to you.
To hold you.
To share a hankerchief. Soaked with the essence.
The essence of tears, of us.
Prospects of life.
Then there to be none.
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