The Blind Eye
I lay my skin on the silver side
of the Moon,
where you can't find me,
where maps aren't made,
and when I realise I can still hear you weeping my heart sinks as a lead balloon.
Some days are endless Winter here,
as they were before,
as they were when singing never drowned you out,
and all that echoes are the wails of boundless fear.
I imagine myself sinking, deep inside the greyness,
where I feel no cold, nor worry, nor pain,
where I will never see you again,
nor Moon, nor sea, nor Winter Sun, you are not the only tired one.