Upon the inner eyes

Then he summons in all the courage he has, gasping yet at peace, holding the universe in the palm of his hand, looking forward in the infinite sky at ease. Belonging to the past his memory, memory that takes him to the joyous moments. A rainy day at Park Street or a sunny day at a city restaurant. Different faces or names, but a single entity, entity of a muse, a beloved.  He gazes and gazes, with no final answer to his questions, no consolation to a heart that’s broken. Everything they asked for he gave, like an endless stream or a goliath fountain.  Now his reserves are to an end. His journey narrowed, dreams blurred. Reality is piercing in eyes of his, and his sensitivity cut short. With a conked out health, and end of endless hopes, he grasps on to the universe in the palm of his hand, and hides it in his hollowed rib cage. Like a bread precious to a defeated beggar. His lone attributed soul wandering in the woods of thorns, bleeding aimlessly and dry. His wounds unseen, but not unfelt. Like a whiplash every passing second scorns his flesh, rugged out from his heart. A voice he remembers, calls for him, in to the belfry of fogs. Crystallized memories shatter on the stones of veracity proving him nothing but a fool. Not a penny is deserved for the tears of truth, for the bloodshed in love. An anti vivid scene projects upon his inner eye, soaking him in the past glory, with an inertia clinging him to a sad aftermath. A story abandoned, vows lied.