• anvaya 30w

    The Darkest Hours

    The darkest hours pass like so
    In solitude, in silence.
    Fierce flashes of fears flush across your face
    As the world begins to look bleak, blurred.
    Blurred by the translucent orbs floating in the air, dancing in your eyes,
    And the first tear falls.
    It's hardest to cry the first tear, for the rest flow without warning, without notice.
    But the first tear, you see it.
    You see it flow down your cheeks on to the coarse pages, mix with dried ink and turn a shade of cerulean.
    You see it as the manifestation of melancholy condensed into spheres.
    You see it, but you see it alone.
    For the darkest hours pass in solitude.
    Tears feel as hot as the cold in your heart.
    Your mind wants to scream in anguish but your voice is already sobbing.
    Sobbing whispers of worries
    Sobbing breaths of blues
    And throwing it to the air for it to be caught by none.
    For the darkest hours pass in silence.
    Weary of worrying, tired of tears,
    Exhausted of exerting efforts to express your emotions,
    You wish the streams would dry, but they don't.
    They extinguish every flame of hope,
    Extract the last ounce of energy.
    They torment and torture your malleable, melancholic mind,
    Until the veil of darkness is draped across your eyes
    Until your sobs slowly, subconsciously subside
    Until you notice the dried tear streaks on your cheeks the next dawn wondering how
    The darkest hours passed like so
    In solitude, in silence.