untitled form of whatever

This is one of the many poem I write that has no particular title. They are just scribbling of whatever is felt, structured rhythmically in a sense, in sentences. I initially intended to write something in just four lines, something short but sometimes you have to just go with the flow. But I guess you will read lines that speak of frustration, of hope, dismay and other stuff in this particular one.

words aflame they turn to ashes,
as the wind gathers and blows away,
many lives break down and eventually crashes,
left with no words to say.
and if the earth would open and swallow the pieces,
or the sky to welcome them evaporating in the sun,
escape would be to end the toil before tomorrow’s night appearance,
but today is just another mirror that conjures up one’s dream in disappearance.
in raising up a toast,
and to kiss reality on the forehead,
to sleep again beneath the gaze,
of colors painting emotions that speak about the setting sun,
is a wait of gathering the middle between the two halves
of the long forgotten yesterday,
and the unforeseen tomorrow,
to breath the dew that speak of morning,
to gather the dust into the wind and say goodbye to sorrow.

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