They say...

The seasons, they say, will change
That the autumns and winters will become springs and summers.
But as much as the sprouts seem to shoot
And the buds seem to form, they whither quickly.

They say the sun will flow back into the room,
That looking into the mirror will be less painful.
Somehow the darkness seems to have engulfed like a fog
And the shadows continue to creep in.

Music, they say, will be sweeter
That symphonies will be heard and the music appreciated.
However, the notes cannot be written
Or the chords played.

They say laughter will once again reverberate,
And excitement will bubble with ease.
But they do not know the depth of the hollow created,
Or the value of the etchings and impressions.

They say many things,
But the look in her eyes are like glass beads,
Emotionless and impassive.
But they say.....

Count the days

Like a drum without its beat
A guitar without its strings
And a piano lacking its tunes,
I count the days that go by.

Like a bird without its wings
A tree without its leaves
A sky without its stars
I walk, aimlessly.

Like the earth requiring the sun
A child wanting his mother
An arid land in need of rain
I am in need of you.

Like the eyes dry without tears
And the throat becomes parched without moisture
My days wear on
And my heart hangs heavy, without you.