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Oh beloved,
I'm like Rumi without Shams.
A shivering summer soul,
secretly stalked by wild white winter wolves.
A chiffon child chiselling chimerical calligraphy,
cursed with invisible ink, silent in sentimental sighs.
I've become the son of solitude,
tired from torture and torment,
descending like surreal sinking sunsets shaded in scarlet,
yearning for a dawn where we can blend like sunrise.

I have no desire to write, but you cut my veins to bleed.
What is pain without pleasure,
or a poet without his poetess?

Oh mistress of the night,
I'll forever wait for you to adorn my garden,
to finally inhale the fragrance of my roses.
I'm the oil lamp in all your blackness,
sometimes I may flicker like a candle,
but I will always reignite to create a spark.
The day you stop reading my musings,
my pen will forever slumber.

Oh daughter of darkness,
let me salvage your light, place it into your eyes.
Guide my quill to engrave upon your shores.
Together we will sail away from Satan's spawn.
I'll shield you from twilight's beasts,
protect you from demons with crimson claws,
emancipate your wings to fly from an illusionary island.
Because,
you love the moon, but it's the stars you gaze at,
hoping their stardust will illuminate your heart,
before they fade into nothingness.

Oh my seclusive sweetheart,
I will strum strings of serenity,
so you release tears of tranquillity.
I may not be the most handsome blossom,
nor the most popular prolific poet,
but I gift you my art and alliteration.
Some may say I'm romantic,
but I am no judge of what is exotic or poetic.
We can't put all our faith in petals and poetry.
I'm no emperor who deserves an enchanting empress,
merely a broken butterfly in your precious palms.

Life is an absent bride,
so I'm not afraid to bleed to death,
in the hope of soothing tomorrows.

Silent One
4 December 2022
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