Raven-haired Firefly Pt. 2 (Untitled)

Time passes by too quickly
but I walk for all dreaminess -
Do you always go to where I'm not,
but innocently;
They are zephyr on my hands
and to the mind's cadence
Would I be a castle
when we're too much to hope,
to you the luminary?
I see you staring at the skies

Towering is that wall
with players at its other side;
I can't recall
Nay, I think I'm better as soldier;
that I may well be wounded,
play for time again and all over,
and all my sharp edge's where you're headed,

or wage war with time if you prefer
I can break, I can carry on –
I'm not the good 'ole sweet player,
But I think I can still strike you
for our nighttime's warmth
and fade away with time –
Or you can always pass me by

Resting, 'ole aimless memory;
you walk off too vaguely

At Sundown (Interlude)

Down by the roadside of urbanized terrorists
of minds and other investments, I'm always
at the sidewalks,
looking on,
always gone with the sleep and imagination
even in wakefulness -
The sunbeams're faint, subtler than
I remembered,
back when everyone was no one to me,
when the world's too vigorous
and when daffodils're too pale for a flower -
when tomorrow's too common and everybody is happy.
Summer was everywhere back then
and I liked best the way my
friends and I would carry on
despite the nuisance - but it's a fine day, today,
it's a dry winter and everyone's too busy
to be anybody for somebody.
This time around,
I'm too busy to be busy - when the world's
becoming its opposite, when the thrills
of the world're angst-driven jays I'm seeing
by the trees mouthing noir; I'd like to think that I was
everyone, whose happiness's
too much for their own good -
By the time the earth smelled
nicotine, I realized
that it was a one-way street of
self-same idiocy of wordplays; that though
I'd trade forever over a minute
of seeing you -
I had to walk on like the rest does,
an accident of existence
and turning mountains into turfs,
rivers to filth -
picturesque indifference into vague substitutes of doubt;
and the fearsome sunbeams
which I dread since reason bore me
are now always short of resolves -
It was always the way the larks
sang about you that gave me more
strength and weakness at the same time,
and it was always
that erratic melody
which reminded me of ill-forgotten summers;
and you're always there,
pale and raven-haired,
nonchalant as those eyes kill the hopeful -
that you and your innocence against my accidence
make this journey more painful.
There're no clouds but the sun's still gloomy,
the winds're strong enough, seizing
the afternoon, and I'm too stubborn -
So I rest - waiting
for tonight when the world's too tired
and when daffodils're blooming -
when tomorrow's set adrift and everybody's asleep;
when I'm too empty I can only sigh your name -
and I start carrying on, alone at sundown,
and no one'll ever notice.