My day starts from midnight,
When the minute and hour hand coincide,
My soul with it's silence, it can't fight,
Gazes watch me from the darkness,
But I can't find those eyes.
Lives and people that were dead,
Coldplays and Spring Days say unsaid,
Those tears, screams & fears that I dread,
Build myself few daydreams,
But I can't see any far.
It's my limit, it's my hour.
How do I sleep through this Ephemera?
Worship the twilight, look deep in the inside,
Shadows and my midnight insomnia.
A myth called melatonin,
Ascetics, Jesus and sermons,
They taught us bout life, can you tell me about nights?
And hallucinations that haunt every time that I sleep.
Teach me, preach me,
How do I live through this Ephemera?
Worship the twilight, look deep in the inside,
Shadows and my midnight insomnia.
And when the hourglass of my heart,
Runs a riot & rips apart,
I know the fireflies of the ocean
would still follow me,
From where the butterflies left me.
All alone, all deep,
Make from tears a new sea,
Ride on boats against the current,
And live my midnight dreams.
YOU ARE READING
The Dyslexia Of Me
PoetrySometimes, you find yourself in the middle of nowhere, And sometimes, in the middle of nowhere, you find yourself. "And when the hourglass of my heart, Runs a riot & rips apart, I know the fireflies of the ocean would still follow me, From where...
