Ceiling Fan Blades

Laying prone, alone, 

Watching ceiling fan blades,

Keep rhythm with

The beat of my heart.

Laying alone in the dark,

This bed of lies haunts

And taunts me as I

Listen to you throw your stones,

Making your plans of dust

Like the dead bones of stars.

Oh, they shine bright until

They die from too much light.

Just as promises made

Become promises broken.

This hell I’m in has to end.

I’ll wait until patience has

Worn its life thin,

Would that I could hold on

Until the words don’t hurt anymore.

Until the day I finally can say,

This day is our last day.

Until that day, I hold onto

A heart that beats with love,

A spirit that gives without conditions.

That is the day this hell will end.

~CWylde © 2015

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