May be This Way

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Photo credit: Caleb George/@seemoris

May be this way
A man succumbs to silence
Empty of homes and shrines
In apathy, with bowed head
Passes through scattered objects

In the gathering gloom
His face remains unidentified
Never did he exist
In memories
A life, damp and decayed
Like worn leather, untouched

Prospects to choose
Found helplessness

He may be there
In flowing crowds

Like a feeble shadow at the door
Neither the maid, nor a visitor
Falling twilight
Fallen leaves

Like a dying lamp
Oh! the heartbeats
Change with seasons!

Pool of lunacy
Hot breath
Spreads over greens
Flowers pop out from snow
Filling swamps

For the days of love
An infinite plane
For touches
A grave where marigolds fall

May be this way
A man succumbs to silence.