The night is cool and full of silent screams,
Torn shadows of memories of the past,
Incoherent elements of missed dreams,
Fragments of those moments that could not last.
You reach out whimpering, feeling sad ‘n lost,
Trying to hold on to something long gone,
Sensing only dead leaves shrivelled by frost…
…And your bedside lamp, you cannot turn on…
Don’t try to get up; leave the curtains drawn,
No use reaching for the pale face of moon…
Too late when you missed the splendour of dawn,
And the cosy warmth of a late June’s .
© P. J. Oszmann (2010)
© Illustration created in Photoshop (2010)