Blog, Gothic, Nature, Poetry, spirituality, Writing

Windows Weeping

I’ve looked out of this window,

And that, 

Whereupon I remember the most,

Those same nights,

Sensory; a blissful bouquet of all things golden,

Those same heights,

Perfection calling; a moment paused, forever,

And yet they’re no longer the same,

For when I turn away,

Unbearably,

I am alone.

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