These are things:
in between –
the likes of you and me.
The same goes for anybody:
that functions remotely
close to –
any likeness to Yours Truly;
It becomes impossible to see:
your side of anything;
my heart does not hear or speak
the obsolete –
language of a Hollow King.
I ride lost in loss and strife:
the chaos of a star’s dying light;
the haunting of a dead man’s life
but why –
must you roam the hallways at night?
When I cannot comprehend:
the commands that your faded voice sends;
across the emptiness of the long-forsaken
echoes within –
the spaces and places of the ill-spirited gardens.
I cannot answer then:
a single one of a hundred questions;
the dialect has tumbled over the edge of extinction
you win –
but a world where you’re happy is hard to imagine.