Let the words flow. Let the pictures speak

Last resort…


There aint a person to got to, not one,
to lend an ear, let alone solace, words
of faith, belief, lying, under layers of dust,
a shoulder to cry on, not available, lost.

Such time shalt sight thine thoughts, a path
lying ahead of thee, to seek, one requiring
courage, given the situation, thou shalt be.
A deserving place thou shalt forever have.

Speaking out to mother nature, on peaks
of a cliff, in grief, the story of thy sorrow,
woven. The pain of thy heart, as intense,
dense, like a heavy mist, in the air.

In thy last moments shalt thou sight,
the mist clearing slowly, the powerful
sun, burning it out, the world around thee,
as if, gone into nothingness.

The seldom sought path, a strong belief,
one requiring, to come back , faith over thy ability,
in words, shalt write them, thoughts put on paper,
in black and white, the clear picture depicted.

Putting thyself in the state, instead of,
throw that work of thine atop a cliff,
that the world below, resulting which,
shalt know thy grief.

– De Nocturnal Poet

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