Trusting me or trusting not,
Everything's an endless plot;
Breaking boundaries between,
With a fresh new scheme.
Nothing is like it should be,
I'm numb inside of me;
Trusting the world for my time,
Reason for each rime.
We have now nothing going,
Just like the wind's blowing;
Love falls apart from inside,
Dark dim out the bright.
Fading rose old valentine,
Lonely moments between;
Sitting and waiting in grey,
Hours lost on their way.
Peter S. Quinn
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/12-from-what-s-really-happening-in-54-numbers/
