Muse: The day listens

Listen, listen.
What I am trying to say,
is...
that when doves fly,
the sun sets twice on that day,
the day turns into night,
and the clouds come out to dream.

Muse: Perhaps

Perhaps,
the desert we call depression,
is a luxury we'd like to have,
when dreams can't hold enough,
of our hopes...
perhaps.

Muse: Every

The thought of you,
makes every colour in the sky,
every drop of sweat,
every tear from the clouds,
seem distant, yet so present,
in the vain hope...

you feel it ... too ...

Prose: I hide myself

He hides in a corner, with a lamp by his side. To guide him, no doubt, to and through the abyss of his imagination. Cracks on the wall appear to him as he ponders upon blank stares. Perhaps there is a tear he can escape to, a crevice to hide, a place where the unknown is met and kept secret...

Under the roof, under the mighty sky, under the weight of dreams, floating on the sea of hope. He hides himself.

Muse: You (now asleep)

Stars lit the darkness,
in the recesses of space,
counting the days and nights,
when I still think of you.

My heart grows weary,
from tiring, trying, tying,
myself to the world,
that is you.

Prose: Sarah

Sarah... keep knocking,
Sarah... keep knocking on the door.

The light lasts, but a while,
but the door needs one to open.

Quick!

Muse: By the rivers

Where in lies the heart,
the object of my desire,
is clinging without spree,
and on gentle waters,
murmur the distant shores,
too distant to keep.