The Sun Missed My Soul…

Her touch wore off; as well as her words and love 

The once seen light in a dream of you and me 

Now turned into a narration by an old man 

Of a book about his regrets; titled with her name– transcribed

Sitting by his window; menacing one’s self in sorrow  

The red cherry of his cigarette grew dimmer

The lantern of her shine grew in hatred 

Illuminating her shadows as a past recollection

Exhaling the last bits of her poison; he stubbed out the blemishes of his cigarette 

The room foreshadowed a chamber; a cell; a prison

While her new lantern conflagrated in a new flame

It depicting a foreign shadow against hers  

Of a shadow that was not his

As the night passed; the moon grew brighter 

Yet, his taste buds grew bitter

Wind stretched into his chamber

A doorless room; with a weariful window

Saturating in his thoughts; an escape was not saught 

In a couple of hours, the sun would have shined 

But the sun missed his fleeting soul

Leaving the body of a John Doe for the sun to find.

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