Lost Sense

A poem

Photo by Gustavo Lanes on Unsplash

Out of the night
here comes Sunday morning like a remedy for dark times.
I wake up alone
longing for a touch of love and the scent of fresh air.
As winter looms closer
I see nothing but grey/blue sky
and hear foolishness echoing all around.
Amongst the chaos
leaves and snowflakes fall gracefully without a sound.
When trouble clouds thoughts and fills lungs like smoke
I follow the sun through this cold, cold world
with everything and nothing to lose.
When falling to pieces —
life remains precious somehow.
So, until the end and from the beginning
—stardust to ashes—
keep dreaming and dreaming and dreaming
keep our world spinning and spinning and spinning.