Always With Me

Days are lonely 

Pretty much.


It's maddening instead of being quiet

Like it used to. 


The silence is deafening 

And being alone feels like dying

Slowly. 


Like a tree shedding its leaves in a late summer

One after one

Baring itself to the wind

And the warm sky.


Tears are not bitter anymore

And heartbeats are no longer throbbing

To anything that matters

To anything.


Untill the next season.


Wondering if the next winter will ever arrive.


This land is a strange one

Time, foreign 

And cruel people. 


But the air is not so unkind

It, with sweet acceptance, flows around. 


It is lovely and engulfing

Promising 

Of no false hopes

At the end.


Only, perhaps

Of, for once

Peace.