There’s a sense of emptiness inside me,
As I wander off the paths paved by many,
My footsteps remember places
Where they once blazed a trail,
And plead me
To wander away without fail.
The forest of time lost alone,
With a lake asleep in its deserted heart,
Becomes my place of rest.
Silently it sings, tales of the mist;
Of the sorceress inside,
And how she’s prepared a tryst.
There’s a sense of fullness inside her heart,
As the haze begins to cast aside,
And uncovers her lips.
Her whispers are anchors unfazed and yet,
Sound like a shore
That is crying for her ships.
The woods beckon me to slip away,
Drown inside my longings and swallow
My soul bathed in tears.
It is my destiny that has deemed it to be,
That the ends of my refuge
Be the end of me.
I lurk on the edge as look into the reflection,
Seeing the sights that always eloped me,
For ache they had roped in close.
The sorceress rises with her arms open like a rose,
But her eyes still search the water,
I think she knows.
She knows how I, ages ago,
Had wandered off the paths paved by many,
To find myself at a lake.
I had cradled my heart in the waters that be,
And had walked away
With an abode of abundance inside me.
I'm Haril Vyas, 21. I'm a published poet and a photographer. I create art to beautify the abyss while I serve my penance there, and to manifest the will of breaking out some day. Writing and reflecting is a blood and bones thing for me. I'll perish if rest.