In so much
that the night allows
a spirit yearning
with the burden
of passing stirrings
for gentle breezes
waning quickly
with the light
of days before

Restless and weary
eyes as heavy
and as blurred
overestimating greatly
in hope deferred
A sleepless dream
like a sigh
on parted lips
A tormented bliss

Love is the song
in a Siren's cry
Memories distorted
by an inner eye
How does it sting
and also soothe?
Where is the end
to these tears
that won't dry?