Blinded by your infatuations
and obsessions.
The dark side eats at you.
All you have left is your stillness.
Lugged around from point-to-point.
In the hope your dreams
can burst the coffin.
Do you remember helping
the harvest?
When walking was followed by poetry.
And whole memories were
swallowed in a moment.
All this, under the dome
of a lovers worship.
These were the best days
of our lives.
A Wandering Poet 