wishing is a bad habit, you know.
Somber is the wonderer,
somber in the curious heart, grown fonder
of perceived devotion in the beholder’s eye;
Somber as the wonderer wanders,
somber as all dreams asunder
glisten, luminous in the star bejeweled sky.
Nothing held more fonder,
So opulent in wonder,
Richly, vastly wondrous, The dreams the wonderer scries
In the opalescent ephemera of promise in the wonderer’s eye.
And slowly creeps the shy,
Lethal, lithe, cry of somber drawing nigh,
Sly, yet sudden, ne’er a gasp or sigh decry
The creeping mourn drawn nigh.
And gaze, affixed,
Beholden, transfixed, the wonderer
to the dream of hope to plunder
as somber begets the wonder
of the wonderer defied.
And Lost, the breath is taken,
The living is forsaken
For a wonder, contorted, faken…
Wonder, wonderer, as your nails grow longer,
Your doubt growing stronger,
Your hope, as you ponder,
Glistening in your glazed eye;
With time, dreams less fonder,
Replaces all the wonder,
And surely, stopped in ponder,