I sit here waiting,

almost dreaming,

about you in a sad poem,

smiling in the curly corner

but no words give me,

my eyes wont feed me,

I am flooded with images

of claustrophobic monsters

and I carry on fighting,

like a lonely river's boatman

In thoughts about you later,

I dream about a violin,

trying to save the dying flowers

And I run in search of water,

To get closer,

before the days fades,

into another morning,

sweetened with warning,

And before I am alone again.

Maybe there's a prayer,

in the breath of a liar,

perched in the higher altars,

of a yellow tower

as he waits

for a sign from his home.