Alas, time ripens
Writings running out of ink, words in regretful demise
Final hours of the night to waste of foolish reasons
Last promises thrust emptiness
Felicity never belonged
Solace in seek of refuge
Spirit in subtle lay to rest

There, you find facade, a fashion in many's stories
A thousand tales, still inkless
Blotched.
Not a pen on its surface, transparency dismissed
Fairytales at its unfold; bad dreams in soulful perspiration

Memories locked by heart
Situations handled by the mind
Pieces hand-written for remembrance
You have been but my guardian.

Close doors,
Comebacks will bless in victorious delegation
like kings from bloody wars.
Happenings will awaken, wide.

And soulcleavage,
it is but goodbye for a while.
Till I may return,
may solemnity stay by you, friend.