Days, Months, years,
As if it wears on briskly,
yet...
Hours, minutes, seconds,
Crawls away slowly,
As I lay on my mattress,
my thoughts wonders,
How did this came to be?
Years flew by as past memories,
Flashing away as if it's chasing,
An invisible endgame?
yet at this moment,
Wide awake,
My eyes gaze upon the chronograph,
Upon my wall,
The dreaded circle of which we abide by,
Movement of it's longest arm,
Seconds drags by,
Pitifully slow...
Painfully stagnant...
If it was dreadfully slow as it felt,
how ?
How did the fondness of my memories seemed so distant ?
How did I find myself awake,
Breathless...sleepless...
The silhouette of an angel,
I directed my sights to her breathtaking allure,
Ah... is that the cause of my breathlessness ?
This ethereal beauty's thievery of my eupnea.
This empyreal radiance's embezzlement of my sleep,
My disloyal eyes' oath to never leave the site of my beauty,
Perhaps, this is life as it was written...
The natural instinct of my lips to curve upwards,
Says million's of instances of why...
Why I'm awake...
And gladly, awake I shall stay...
For this may be a fleeting memory in the future,
But at this moment, She is my present.
And present she'll stay, all the more in my future.
This warmth, akin to a Somersby night..
Rejoice! My heart sang out,
For this beauty is now yours to adore.
She is my Somersby night.
