The World.

All this time I was wondering,
what promises will fade
on the forgotten shores of time.
In the early dawn, light twinkles close to shore.
My heartache is steady.  I am moving towards the west.
Where do I begin to explain the simplicity of this promise?
I am bequiled, like a forgotten land.  However few,
these words are broken.  Why is there a knot in the back of my
head?  Some people don't seem to understand the time it takes
to reflect on my burdens.  I have to survive in the wild,
alone, desolate, broken, in the mood of being nothing more
than a being surviving without anyone, anything.  Words are
nothing more than a broken promise, etched in time.  The pigeon
flies on sole wings, in the midst of despair, I am here, reaching
far out into oblivion, reaching far out in the midst of things.
Don't tell me you are jealous.  I am beyond reason.  Your reason
should be your god, not your menace.  I feel like a ghost is following
me, from room to room, down the road, etched in dew.
The dew falls on the grass, and the rain pitter-patters on the roof,
and I am long-forgotten, wondering about the world.