Well, what if all these nights you've spent waiting have been in vain? What if all there's left to it is nothing but one more attempt? And yet you can't stop denying it... These illusions that recurred in my head were nothing but a lonely whisper of what was never to be. Cruel conditions of lonely sentences that filled the pages of a book long dead...
Maybe the reason I've avoided could sustain me into thought but all I see, all I hear and all I've known are rivers of seduction with no traces of love. The last remnants of something greater than this truth, an all-knowing cold-looking mirror with two faces set in stone. An ugly, silly, tempted siren and an ever changing score.
All but fated,
all but scared,
sending minutes to my mind,
setting markers in the night...
all but wasted,
all in dark.
This is what I crave to be,
the night of days, the song of tears,
the lonely wolf that looked too high,
that dared to dream and risked its life.
The elderly Sheppard, the satire inside.
A greater hesitation the truth tries to hide.
Place me now in waters,
deep and running sure,
deep and still as crimson
still and dead as you.
Waters of oblivion,
waters with no shore.
Waters of a distance
that I can call my home.
Far into the night.
Far from all he is.
Far from perils known.
Far from safety unseen.
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