Median versus None

Hour hand seems to be in a race

It keeps rushing for years

I have lost my words , in search

of her face

I crave my own despise, my eternal wrath

Casted purely through a furlong

A story of a sinful child winded by oblivion

Hinted by the sense , but always weak in math

Hour hand rushes through the ages

I observe the drifting silence

Across the glowing of the city's street lights

and a daily facade , everything changes

I sometimes wonder how can emptiness

be so pure in its divine form, yet

an atrophy to the living soul , for those

for some , for me and at times for none

Hour hand smiles at my fate

And whispers reality in its cold touch

She was everything once

Now her dreams echoes while I fade

A vague understanding of the past ,

But true to the innerself in the present

This fading soul prays for her best

In my own silent ways across the forlorn corners

I still pray for your best.