Being there

There’s something so devastating
about their inner broken sadness
of someone who I attribute
most of my happiness to
A feeling so powerless
seeing them helplessly hopeless
with no surge of optimism
seeming to reach through
What can I do?
I know nothing
because I’ve been there myself
all that really helps, is offering to help
Concern and care
are more important
than merely
Being there

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The Moon and I

I’m a little bit made of the moon
We are both soaked in the blood
From the life far from us
But close enough to witness

While usually reflecting
What’s thrown at us by the more
Light hearted
We often shade away in our own
Darkness
Of which there are sides
We will never show

Troubled like a cried eye
Or festively drunk on wine
The moon and I are always
One and the same it seems

For long…

Sitting in the pale winter sun
On a bench by the water
I close my eyes
Letting the light illuminate my skin
I imagine myself
On my beloved island
Where the mosquitoes never stop hovering on me
And the smells of life are equally as fondly
To caress me in a warmth otherwise unknown
While the calm breeze on the sea
Tickles my senses with the saltiness
That resemble the tears of my life

This sun of cold shine, walks with me
Until darkness returns once more
Under my feet up to the roots of my hair
And I dream again, of where I for long
Belong to be