The croak of a lonely bullfrog

The night falls into its darkest hour,
as the moon shys into the billowing clouds,
the night sky lit only by the faint speckles of the stars,
like a thousand children lighting matches from a thousand miles away,
enveloped by the chorus of joyfulness and adolescence in their voices,
singing and dancing in the burning flames,
like a circle of bonfires in the village square,
and yet,
as if isolated by the border between joy and solitude,
i found that familiar me in the wrong side of town,
a thousand miles away from that village square,
that was filled with voices from the children of the night.

As i lay alone on my bed,
wanting to end the mundanity of the day,
as i seek the embrace of a fresh tomorrow,
the start of a brand new day,
that always promises sweeter promises,
and yet as the night crepts by like a whale without its fins,
as the mind hovers over the waves of mindlessness,
as the frustration inside brews maturely into anger,
the excruciating anguish soon turns to sorrow,
the sorrowful longing of a familiar companion,

the tender act of hugging her,
of giving her a backrub,
and of coaxing her to sleep,
simple acts of love,
denied by fate.

Having been fortunate to have had spent a many years with the luxury of someone i love sleeping beside me every night, that loathsome feeling of being alone in the dark do seems terribly unbearable at times. Even with the emotional healing of time and the valiant effort to move on in life, that solitudinous feeling does tend to grab your heart with its cold bare hands, squeezing its vigor out from your soul, sending you flinching with despair.

yet, as Time stares callously at me,
like a thousand frozen spikes raining on the helpless,
the pain of lonesomeness eventually numbed all trains of thoughts,
as the lights extinguishes instantly in that empty railway station,
with me renouncing helplessly into a slumber of sleep,
accompanied only by the croak of a lonely bullfrog.