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Poem

Between paper-soft 
worlds of fragile 
imaginations, 
I float upon those
gossamer tulips 
that split every 
second of saccharine 
musings and 
eclipsed confessions, 
distinguishing all
photoelectric synonyms
of lachrymose 
stimuli towards 
glassy manipulations
of blood-fragranced sun. 

Everything that is 
sown in sweetened 
textures of afterglow-soil, 
always blossoms upon 
decayed fossils of 
frivolous fates, as 
balanced bullets have
forever pierced 
through the pulpy 
sheaths of nature's 
rainbow-blankets,
but their aged roots 
always adorn nourishing 
gemstones of 
ephemeral healing, 
to spread their wise 
branches across earth's
mirrors, as the thin
veil disappears. 

What is the raven-spade
-hearted impulse
without its nascent yet 
succulently flowing 
snow-white mist? 
What if, reality speaks
of those skies smitten with 
hypnotic illusions of
chess-shaped horizons? 

Have yin and yang ever
repelled each other's
rusty-maroon notes
that they whisper in 
immortal prelude? 

We have remained 
skillfully blindfolded to 
the isles of inceptions, 
swirling amidst ripples
of diamond-kismet 
estuaries, washing away 
consciences with
diplomatic dewdrops
of frosty maple fog. 
Tending to forget that, 
we are mere syzygy knights, 
crawling along 
slanting seesaws as 
bioluminescent bishops. 

Our schizophrenic 
threads have been 
tied to the aroma of 
poisoned satin within 
these final alphabets of 
enchante´ epitaphs, 
where life will be 
the last organ grinder 
of karma, playing 
an evanescent checkmate
which shall ascend 
every soulful spirit 
beyond Persephone's 
penumbral embrace.

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