Supine, Looking at the Sky

I never thought I'd turn into a flower, supine, looking at the sky, sometimes vibrant, but so fragile - with an innocent vulnerable rainbow heart. My eyes gaze at timeless horizons, resembling fragrant pages of my poetry. My verses are like a bouquet of emotions, an abundance of fresh pastels, which sometimes bleed dark and deep. I'm well versed in the beauty and ugliness of silence. Not all is hidden behind metaphors. It's simple to gaze at stars for our musings. Yet, in the glowing garden of the poetic gardener, my bottle of tears cannot save my cursed orchids, trying to blossom despite unrealistic hopes. I search the sky for heaven on days when the sun does not shine. I wonder if the sombre rain has arrived to wash away all my sorrows. I'm afraid of the sky's shades, moods and tantrums. The weather's black velvety emotions are a reminder, how the season's of life can massacre my oasis. What is my life, but an anthology of dead poets, empty promises and forgotten dreams, like a plethora of pale petals. Who will sit and listen, if I tell my story. What will the clouds carry with them, what whispers will the winds keep secret. A blank page is my destiny with invisible ink - after all, doesn't everything die? Except eternal love. But is it a blessing or a curse. It's that time of the year again, when roses wither for winter. I'll never forget how well I suffered, despite regretful nostalgic murmurs, constantly echoing irreparable losses, when paradise faded away from my grasp. I'm tired from lying flat, yearning for my posture to become upright. As twilight brings darkness and I can't see the moon, an aromatherapy of vintage memories, ignite into a hell of confusion, especially the lyrics of that song, where you think it's been written about you, which is a timely reminder, there are things in life I need to forget - to let go and not to fade like a silent petal.