November Wordsworth

Over, the sought thousands,  of thoughts wrapped all through, slaps of glances and all the prior skims, that felt like flaps not of pages but,  maybe of raven wings on an escape  among the winds,  across lost alleys among mazes.  What possibly could that be  hovering over your mind at a glimpse of such a kind,  cought at such a peace  no psyche could have ever thought and no money could have ever,  bought  May be deep beneath thoughts,  thoughts over a lover milllions of miles,  or maybe milleniums of lifetimes away.  that you just can't help,  but only to let that theme deep your heart,  make all those songs to play,  on your mind if it's to still be a flux,  or a hello from the other side. Could it or else be suzan,  one who leaves like a thief in the night,  whose name name no one will ever know,  there, stands you in flames of pain unshaken,  on other side of my conea a split sec...

 I am waking amongst ruins,  debris of the falling, fragments fully torn off to a place far away, lost with in the self unknown.  Weak in the knees I know I can't walk this path by my self the winds over my head tell,  whispers left only to broken hearts  if together will ever be us again, Thinking about the days painted in peels of petals and baskets of kisses,  and then now,  my grayscale night,  where the moon may never rise day by day I live on to a hope,  that maybe some day,  I'll come to find that old self and may be someday  May be someday  I'll come to learn that,  "a scath is not some thing that disappears, but something we learn wake up,  ang and to go to bed,  something to live along with,  that only time may ever heal!