Brittle

Think not that I never dream of you,
I miss you as the dunes miss the clouds,
In nights filled with stars forever to count,
I dream of you as the sand dreams the light.

In steps of the few, I hear an echo of you,
Brittle glass, sharp as a newborn's fate,
Finds its way in and around my veins,
As I dream a little dream of you.

By its senseless cry and its might,
The sun nourishes mine blissful fear,
Of days and nights in this great sea,
Where I shall sail without a hint of you.

"I beg of ye" I scream and shout,
Echoing in this world so low,
Darkened by a thoughtless mind,
My heart races as I think of you.

Finding naught on the road north,
Desire sleeps in its bed anew,
Yet in its dreams all it can see,
Is a longing for the love of you.

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