Lone figure stands atop a rolling knoll,
Imagining experiences that will never be.
In the overcast glow of grey above,
He feels it's fallout on his upturned face,
Letting the sky do what he has given up.
If substitution was possible
I would have long ago quit giving up hope.
But when vacancy and loneliness walk hand in hand
Holding myself tightly and rocking is all I can do to cope.
Sleep flits teasing just out of reach.
When thinking is lucid all thoughts are deep.
Relishing the moments of lucidity of muddled pain,
Awakened dreaming of days when I again can fall asleep,
I am coming to terms with the unreachable goal.
