Back To My Dark Home

The home where knocks ask for the doors

 A loud, cry in the corner, a dark for colors

 Slightly makes my limbs to be trunk again

 Like an old echo comes from a silent rain

 And the walls are patched up by the tears

 Like in mid-summer latches of cloud fears

 On the numb floor of room there is a story

 It says how my early petals were as a glory

 Curtains through the windows are burning

 As the sunny days after the dense raining

 And the light comes from the roof as fall

 As like the dusty highways from pain's call

 A table where is a rusty diary of my words

 But it knows my hearty spells if it is a verse

 The question it makes for me when it talks

 Removes my deafness and dumbness' walks

 Every line in this like a sail on the pages of it

 A god bounded thoughts of how to be hermit

 O' the loneliness' fatal rounds across my chair

 They're aliased as the barracks around my hair

 Ambitiously before writing I see out of window

 Far of me is the sun wants a gloom from rainbow

 Inconstant mind and the derby nerves grumble

 As the contraction of my breath to heart's fumble

 Feel like there's not a place for me in this and that

 As timely holding few moments from my lament

 Still having plans to be planned of smile and cry

 As the curse of sole life deals from love nearby

 Here is the deepest secret that no one knows

 That trims slowly my soul as a gloaming froze