As a zephyr of a most still night,
of a most still life
blew out the one candle glimmering light,
I tagged to my journal another sleepless night.
As the rest laid in slumber
of amply tiring days,
I glared at the mirror
with an unrecognizable gaze.
Counting down the days
I wouldn’t mind not living out as
an island of bridges set ablaze
made way to the rising sun.
The blown out candle again glimmered in light
as the seasonal tint of pastel consumed the sky.
No clouds in sight, it turned blue too soon.
The turning of the sun made me miss the blue moon