Pens and Pages

If only truths were spoken, I can say forevers can be counted, On the tiny fingers of love Born a few years ago, On the walls painted red, Every year on the same date. But love has grown up now. The red walls have been repainted, This time, on another date, Only to be repeated year after year, One false forever after another. And truths, these days, are spoken The same way promises are made, With gritted teeth and crossed fingers. At the end of the day, All smiles seem fake, The fake forevers remain To be counted upon the stars, One after the other, Some forgotten, Some too dim to be seen, But a forever, nevertheless, Another star to keep.

She whispers words in my ears, Songs in my head, Dark songs in my soul. She vanishes as dawn breaks. And when the night Covers me With its starless blanket, She appears again On the doorstep. Two gentle knocks On the wooden door. Third, She calls out my name. She then whispers my name, Again and again. She sings songs of the past, Songs of the dead. She wears the moon On her face. But tonight's a moonless night; She bears no face. She whispers death in my ears, Songs in my head. Songs forgotten, Songs of the dead.