Random Musings Of An Insomniac 48

I love Autumn.
It is the antithesis of everything.
Its beauty lies in death and decay.
Its colours vibrant in their farewell.
The soft crunch it makes before complete silence.

What a beautiful way to say goodbye.
What a beautiful way to be remembered.

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Unloved

Promises that were never made;
are meant to hurt more.
They leave no right to question;
no feelings to explore.
When I look in the mirror;
a statue stares at my soul.
At least you don’t have to move on;
at least you were adored.
Isn’t it always harder;
for the one left at an open door?
They can choose to neither enter,
nor leave on their own.
Their hearts like a pendulum;
Swinging, pausing, swinging, worn out to the core.
A flutter in your existence;
a tornado to their soul.
And promises that were never made,
are more cruel to the soul.
They make you care, they make you notice;
their nonchalance harder to ignore.
Emptiness swallowing emptiness;
swirling like a black hole.
An existence that becomes so hollow, a shell with no soul;
A shell that keeps suffocating, condensing, till it exists no more.

IN PRINT

Of happiness in print,
they say it once did come true.
Our pictures with smiles,
they will live through.
Him not being there,
will speak through photos few.
Her voice now unheard,
will live through memories not new.
Its not about one or two,
So many faces disappeared into colors few.
Regret is never a step too soon,
Many conversations said – unsaid, forgotten too.

Of happiness in print,
they say it once did come true.
Our pictures with smiles,
were once part of a present new.
Us not here,
will be a part of memories too.
Our loves and lives,
Captured only in print to view.