Skies full of faithful promises

Clutter of thoughts
Artwork by IsyLLiS

I run my fingers
through a clutter of thoughts.
Taste potions of my pain
own it, and breathe a new-found freedom.
We spoke in languages
we did not understand.
Must I write of lost love, and departed lovers
their memories and lingering love
that has floated away
on a lonesome cloud?
Or turn in another direction,
where the Sun is beginning to rise
and the skies are full of faithful promises.

Love, warmth, peace and a happy new year to you all. 



Noise filters through the mind’s sieve
like tea leaves through strainer.
Their pain embalmed, now relives,
graffiti of the past years.

Now the walls talk to them
through the art of mysterious tags.
Dusty windows, set in artful ruins,
their eyes to the other side,
now open to shmaltz of another year to come by.