Fleeting

Crickets whistle in the morning;
they have forgotten how to chirp.

I want to laugh, in the half-lit corner,
where a smile lies forgotten.

Each morning when I wake,
I stand before a mirror.

Proof of my existence when belief
is prepared to succumb.

It is difficult to live in the shadows;
existing behind this veil of deceit.

I keep finding myself in this place,
where crickets whistle in the morning.

by Thorne
posted on 12/31/2007