Unconsciously, she became a part of him,
It was far too late, by the time he realised that.
As the dawn arrived, he felt torn deep inside.
He blinked, experiencing the moist in the eyes.
In his mind, the thoughts of another sleepless night.

He tore unfinished poems,
During long days he could not work properly,
Seeing orange tree orchards sprung from the desert,
At odds with the perils of an uncharted territory,

Did she become a profession of hope or an obsession?
No longer an anxiety, merely an immaterial issue.
Somehow, he was no longer willing to fight back,
A primal brain pattern triumphed over rationality.

Now, contemplating his own dilemmas from far away,
Tardy in having stripped a galloping deception,
Entirely immersed in a glacial stream of sorrow,
His intellect would not obey a stop to care command,
Relentlessly, rebelling against his established order.
 

M.Daedalus