Muse by Moh

A POIGNANT RECOLLECTION The letters, numbers slowly fade, the walls cave in, the sun fades off and the vision is just gone. But still, poetry escapes through the breath, in sighs that rhyme with words in the mind. Words, words that never leave the mind yet very much alive. Moving towards the window to catch an ounce of breath, but everything is so vacant, a fog that is quartz grey obscuring the vison. The feeling of the wind, the moisture of it as it brushes on the delicate skin, but filled with a gloomy aura. Looking back inside the room, the chandeliers hanging so low, swinging so close to the ground, the once flawless ceiling, so worn out, so torn and creaking.  The lights flickering, every minute faster that the last, walls closer, and the lights, the lights fluctuating so rapidly, like a dying lamp in sepulchers.  The memory eludes, a lump in the throat, thoughts, emotions crashing upon the shore like an evening when the ocean has a high tide. Its all in the mind, maybe, ...