Our world was once the only time
I cared to shut my eyes.
Content with nothing else, simply the darkness
enveloping my struggling thoughts,
there was no choice but to surrender.
Having been made to open my eyes,
time is stopped.
The laughter is monotone,
shadows disappear each hour of the day
and writing is difficult to achieve.
The only book I’ve read
makes claims of irrational behavior
as an advantageous notion,
stealing away with recollections
of a perfect love
I possess, yet cannot understand.
How is it my promises
The words of a man are not yet desperate
until he makes a promise
he cannot keep,
then his words are worthless.
Time is stopped,
the world must realize this,
but I cannot make my eyes close again,
I cannot be forced to forget
promises not yet fulfilled.