The storyteller

I’m a desiccated teardrop
On a raft of solitude,
Heading out to woeful sea
Of melancholy and misery.

Deserted by all whom I’ve loved
In Incantation of death,
I make my wretched way
Through this dreary, futile life.

I see no friends,
Nor Foes.

Yet hope shined into my being erewhile,
When I met that angel,
That mesmerizingly beautiful creature,
Who now appears only in my dreams.

Words fail me over and over,
Breath has deserted my lungs.
No language sufficient enough,
None melodic enough.

I’m alone with this feeling.
I shall not ask to be understood,
Only listened to.

I’m the doomed narrator.
The bard of broken hearted,
Forever lost solitary storyteller.

The storyteller

Taymaz Valley

March, United Kingdom

Artwork Comments

  • Sarafeline
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