|Photo source: http://thearcticstar.blogspot.sg/2014/04/personal-portraiture-experience.html|
Dark is the night waxed not by light's pallor,
Silence begins a soliloquy of its own;
Its thoughts, so deep, yet unheard by ears
That most words fall deafly upon.
Icy is the touch of the dancing winds,
Gentle, like butterfly's unwavering caress;
The lyrics of life are being pondered upon,
With each passing thought of many yesteryears.
|Photo source: http://thearcticstar.blogspot.sg/2014/03/dinner-at-bistro-gardenasia-nyee-phoe.html|
Haunting is the melody of the Hands,
Ticking with each footfall of passing time;
Nights enfold into the pages of memories,
Ebbing away from all burning desires and ires.
Eating away at the soul like maggots on flesh,
Eroding, but only of the material shell that hides us;
Frayed edges of time, laced with pain, slices through,
To the core, with its tiny jagged sharp edges.
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