The Silence of My Voice

Haunt me, Unlike the ways of spirits, Imprinting my soul by yours, Haunt me, Leaving your scent unto me, Like a room filled out by baked apples, Haunt me,  Until I start hallucinating, And haunt me, As if you truly follow me, Haunt me, By the sweet tones of your piano, Whereby I sat watching you play, Haunt me,  With the bitterness of the morning coffee, With the torn pages of the book, You could never read to me, Haunt me, again, With all the singularly eyed jokes, And the laughter that followed, Haunt me, still, Through the seconds, When you helped me replace my guitar strings, Haunt me,  Haunt me, till I hum the tunes you made, Haunt me, until the edge of madness, And haunt me,  Till I bleed of you. Been long gone, eh? Some inspiration it took, this one. Buzzed, Ak. 

She sat by the same window, stirring her coffee. Looking out - thinking - nothingness. The comprehension of the most simplest activities of the human mind stayed well beyond her reach. She came here often to be astray in the smoke from the chimneys that preceded the green lake. Through the cloud of the smoke, she kept her attention out for the water. Water that seemed misty from the chimney smoke. Water that was true. Water, that was imperviously solid. Water, that reflected everything for what it was. She smirked, thinking funnily, how the haze from the steam of her coffee, was just so essential for her to obstruct the distractions the world was ready to serve on a plate, each time that she was here. Alike the steam of her coffee blanketed her when she rendered herself most vulnerable, the smoke of the chimneys, never let anyone see the true face of the water. She often thought to herself, how unfair for the water to be abandoned out there naked. Oh, how she could understand the sha...

"The exploding vulnerability, Of the night, When it stands at its darkest,  Right before the dawn, Dangling like a lost lover, When the roads barren, And the sky hushed, The world seems bigger, Better, Enhanced by the moonlight, Looking of past, holding the essence of  the nameless, Don't blame the virgin night, It does not engulf, It invites you in, to fill it in, With your secrets, Protecting you every step of the way,  The night retrospects, In its obscurity, Lies its unkempt beauty, Exactly how a woman looks dishevelled , In the morning light,  Pouring winter into her coffee." Retrospecting, yet again, Ak.