Stars At The Tips Of My Fingers

A cup of house blend coffee, hot on a windy dusk. My pair of eyes and my whole face reflecting on a glass window while I write this random lyrics not to drag anyone down but to comfort the existence of my sorrow. Reminiscing the early years of my life, loneliness taps my shoulders like drops of rain drenching my head until I cannot see what’s ahead of me. I close my eyes and forgive the child who devoured the wrong plums. I pacify myself and slowly move in the direction of the lampposts, entirely defeating the darkness that has been there from the very beginning; and freedom is a perfect antidote to a state of great distress. Endings have ended. Memories have frozen. I still write my delight, my misery, or my true love. My other treasures are the stars at the tips of my fingers.


About chester maynes

poet, and a lover of music and books.
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