Winds

The winds whistle and utter the truth that I know, I recall writing that poem, looking at the moon with so many to idolize.

How do I sleep, I slept too well before, I said I was awake, but I’d never sleep again if that moment replayed.

I hate seclusion, the bed’s too warm, but the angel of life does not lie with me.

I’ve forgotten the sweetness of your lips, your curves, why does it feel as if death erodes you.

The sands of time are blown away, as the winds rearrange a new story.