Perhaps my path is that of loving love forlorn
Awaken in the lucid night and sleepless by the morn
Like a dream that trickles by into the warmth of morning light
A rush of an evening, tender touch fades into the night
An ignorant fantasy brought to taste
The sweet bitterness of mine own disgrace
The mellow, soft glow of the nightlife glare
A shudder of cold, snow in my hair
A tender touch of gentility
Minding my own humility
A laugh escapes my frozen lips
I shake off the feeling from my fingertips
A prickling apprehension shrouded by the rush
A kindling ember, silenced by a hush
That has fallen over my senses and hath spited my soul
The trembling melodies and mournful flute are the source of my console
And I wonder if I’ll ever find the one who speaks the words I sing
But for now I’ll sit and watch and see what life will bring.