I watch her.

I watch her,
as the night drapes over her window,
as the stars tangle in her hair,

I watch her,
as the chiseled imperfection
of the moon stirs her inky musings,

I watch her ,
in the uncertain glow of the dying candle,
in the torrent of tattered thoughts,

I watch her,
watching me through the silver-smeared glass,
through the pits of colourless brown,


                                      I watch her as                           
                                   ­            she slowly traces the silence,
                                                        ­           silencing the traces of him.

When love dies,
It is not always hatred that takes its place,
Sometimes it is nothingness and void showing their ugly face.

When bravery dies,
It is not always cowardice blowing its horn,
Sometimes acceptance of the fear is born.

When kindness you used to receive dies,
It is not always that cruelty looks promising and grand,
Sometimes self protection and love come forward to hold your hand.

But when humanity dies,
It is always melancholy and destruction making their way,
No good or constructive feeling ever gets a say.