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If the truth were known,
I would be saying how deeply I miss you.
If the truth were known,
I would be saying how sad I am.
If the truth were known,
I wish you were that special one.
Foraging around the dark and wet city
to seek solace, to pray for comfort, and to encounter kindness.
The darkness gives way to the glow of neon lights and the smell of tobacco
until emotions intertwine with distant music and nearby laughter.
Why do the famous faces on the silver screen portray it so much better?
Casablanca is not sweet when transferred to the raw and mean streets of London
in 1989.
Standing by the underground whilst I watch your lower walks away.
Then, another quiet sigh amidst the bustling crowd.
The full yellow moon whispers,
“Yes, isolation is here all the time where it is often unseen but surrounds you,
much like me”.
The ache lingers, so does the moon and the rain.
The next day, the sun appears where its warmth embraces me once more
like a mother's love provides soothing – I remain unchanged.
If the truth were known,
I would learn to love myself.
If the truth were known,
I would embrace my feelings as they grow.
If the truth were known,
I would be at one with myself.
But, I am not!
The poem above is not entirely and originally my creation. However, I have modifications whilst ensuring that the original thoughts articulated by its rightful owner are preserved.
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