Bunguswa Writes.

Tides of the day have risen;  the western sun is setting, the mild glow of the moon a nuisance in its shinning, I'm cuddled to a stooge, mentally fallen. A journey through a long lone night starts, to reckon with loud silence, piecing fragments of solitude in their dorminance- to a castle of emptiness that hurts. I'm drowning in the bottomless abyss, of thoughts that scare- this that numbs the heart with no care, devoid of the fairy tales of bliss. But a night walker I want to be not, Peace setters retell me a tale worthy to note. © Bunguswa ™.

I know the taste of a retiring sun; and I know how a dying day smells, like lilies of corrupt waters swells- the sun and the day bemourn the faint moon. A tired moon stares on with languid eyes, casting shadows of despair upon condensed souls, in whom disabled life crawls- like warms in freezing summer ice. And When I rise with the midnight silence, to the embrace of the tangible and dense darkness, I let my mind wonder through the blankness of a tormenting sea with no defense. Like the mound reddens by fall of rain, so will my ashes rest in the common urn. © Bunguswa ™