Poetry / Being in the presence of none

may liars be your witness

as another night by the windowsill awaits

conjure her being within mind

and wisk away with the essence

a raptureous breeze

blind as the faith you believe

lay still upon your face

cold but still warm on the inside

retracing what led you to this

in most parts needed it gives no chance imparticular

would rather not be called a hypocrit

so you sit in solitude

waiting for that one single moment where it just might be mistaken for a

feeling so

singled

and when you add up the numbers

you let everyone fall into place

reaching outward towards the emptiness in front of you

hanging on to one glimpse of a memeory that could change this plane of

outlook to where you just might not be

alone

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