Laying in the dark,
with no light,
and the ruminations of my heart,
and only the contemplations of my mind for company,
how quiet the wasteland of the soul,
and a heart torn apart,
from previous loves that I have known,
and with so many thoughts to meander through,
the brain races without a pause,
and my imagination is sparked,
by my longing for love,
love, that rare thing that never visits or calls hardly at all,
because love is mostly an infrequent stranger to me,
and I suffer for the lack of it,
and how tempestuous my mind is,
as it contemplates the delights of love,
that do so entice me and tease me,
in the shadows where I lay alone,
where I lay thinking of a love,
where I lay thinking of another’s heart to call my home,
and as I lay in the quiet,
time it goes so slow,
and I,
I am not alone I know,
because out there,
there are millions of people looking for love too,
walking through the shadows of emptiness,
wanting the light and wanting to be whole,
and wanting to feel wanted,
wanting another person to hold,
wanting tenderness and gentle caress,
and wanting sweet kisses from honeyed lips,
and wanting such happy times,
where the heart is as happy as never before and,
in such bliss,
and as joyous as can be in the light of love,
joyous in the happy melody that it sings to me,
and in its beauteous glow,
and oh, how truly happy I would be,
to have love again,
and to see the love of another reflected in their eyes,
and to be mesmerised and beguiled by them,
and revelling in their company as happy as can be,
yes, what a wonder it would be,
to be in the company of love once more,
instead of here alone laying in the dark,
waiting for eros,
waiting for eros whilst nursing an empty heart.
