(December poetry number two)
I use to like the daylight, I use to like the sun on my face. Somewhere in time, pretty things became less pretty. Conversation became, just useless words talking to no-one, who wants to listen.
Once I believe in the good things and now I love the dark things. Maybe love had killed me off, maybe war had made me cold. Maybe I was born alone and now I know. It is okay to know the silence and the taste of the Black Velvet whiskey.
I told the three-fingers of Black velvet. I loved love and love did not love me. I scribbled to paper.
“The torch of love, where she be?
Should I love or should I die?Should I swim or should I drown?
Should I beg for more or accept less?
The torch of love need everlasting andeternal desire to keep the flame alive.”
Maybe we suppose to finds the lonely places, maybe we suppose to want less. Maybe the drink, maybe the song. Our last friend, we shall know.