You have
made me swallow sighs,
long,
drawn out and heavy.
They dance over lips from
souls, weary and lost,
making the air choke with
regrets of dreams gone,
twisting around
my mind's eye.
The breeze brushing against
my cheek,
a breeze that
clouds,
forming blindfolds,
engulfing the light,
creating a dark reality
smog filled and broken.
Is it this that blinds your eyes?
(this smoky blindfold)
Is it that the peace never comes?
(by the beating of the war drums)
You have
made me swallow sighs
upon
which love
or hate
can be written in the dusty gray
smears of
the once clear windows to our mind.
Of
the jaded view of he-loves-me
he-loves-me-not.