If I can find solace in something,
I hope it's waiting in the words I write,
So this time I spent can mean something,
Something more than an empty night—
Hanging by a thread under strangled lights,
Straining my eyes to see the stars,
—To see the worth inside me.
This much I wish for alone,
A recollection or missing piece to find,
Searching in the ruins of the past,
Under rubble of memories that didn't last,
Word after word—as teary waves come,
Justifying the despair of my life's sum,
—Comforting my loneliness.
I know the fantasy of my hope,
That somehow I'll eventually figure it out,
A million words through a decade,
Yet my heart is still not emancipated,
But I'm not a fool just yet—my hand is ready,
My pain is here, slow and steady,
There is still more to search and despair.
©bchapusha
B