Pages From Your Diary

The sky is stained with the grey of the embers Where the sun no longer dares to light. The shadows stretch out like claws that remember What’s left of my path through the night. Each footstep echoes in a hollow of absence, Beneath the weight of a heavy metal sky, Where silence is the only remaining sentence Of a winter that will never pass us by. I traced your name on the frost of the window, Watching the dew as it wept for us both. The garden we planted is rotten and hollow, The "after" has swallowed the word of our oath. Where promises bloomed, now the mildew is growing, Where touch used to linger, there’s only disdain. Time is the hangman, a cold wind is blowing That snuffs out the spark and consumes all the pain. At the end of this road, there stands a ruin, Built from the shards of the stories we once knew. Sad times or happy? I can no longer tell. That flower on the edge of the cliffside, clinging to the horizon, Reminds me of just how much you meant to me. While the breeze caresses my face, Drying the tears that fall as I read the pages of your diary, Swept away by the wind! The words that were written in ink pale and faded Are ghosts dancing over the floor. Lost little phrases, a soul torn and jaded, Beating on a chest that feels heartless and sore. The cliff is the only harbor I’m finding, Where the flower resists the dark of the deep, But its scent is of death, a bitter reminding Of all that the vastness has taken to keep. And if the wind stops, who will tell me then? Is this longing I feel, or the urge to forget again? The ruins don't speak, they just crumble away, While the echoes of your name are here to stay. Swept away by the wind... Like the ashes of what we were... Like the light within your eyes... At the end of this road, Only dust remains. Where the pages of your diary Become one with me... In the solitude.