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When nature wilts into 
                  a colorless haven, 
metaphors of death sprout 
                      from timeless roots~
easing through relentless gales of grief.
Like the lulling of 
nocturnal nightingales, 
nestled in nests 
    of hibernating serenades..

Life is a p o e m framed 
in f l o a t i n g memories~
hung behind 
a vintage scarf 
of vanilla f l a s h b a c k s
Every rhyme swiftly
       evaporates into
           paper-cut sunsets,
while the first 
              flake 
                of frost 
resembles the 
depth of grief we home~
divine light of the creator 
seeps in amidst 
mourning rainbows,
comforting the greying 
dawn dressed with 
seasonal s i l e n c e

I am a sunken 
s e a lily
drifting along a
glacial lake of lament,
finding solace in 
faith that flickers 
through sapphires~
     scattered as a 
   glimmer of hope 
across arctic skies…
And when the last 
ray of gold wanes 
into a hushed slumber,
my onyx ink bleeds 
coral lines in 
   glows of gloaming,
chasing 
     bed-shaped 
        clouds that purge 
mauve mists upon 
porcelain fields, 
cloaked in crystal 
clear tears of 
yesterday’s chaos.

I hear sullen symphonies 
echoing from 
the sandalwood 
essence of death,
composed in refined 
refrains across
rhythmic ruffles 
of wintry rivers. 

Sometimes, moon-soaked 
memoirs enclasped 
in silver credence, 
reflect the final embrace 
with familiar fragrances, 
like souvenirs of l o s s
while time keeps ticking 
within a snow-globe 
of 
    frozen heartbeats,
flaming 
   colors of change
keep cruising through
the  
  seascape of misery.

But, between the
bittersweet blizzards
of fragmented dreams,
I find peace, 
   in the 
aftermath of 
     heavy rainfalls.
The euphonious 
tune of nature,
has a way of reminding
all that which breathes,
that a winter slumber,
is an 
   eternal ethereal plan,
to reunite spirits in a 
seraphic sanctuary above
doleful darkness that 
suffocates blistered 
skin of 
   wounded willows.

So tonight, 
   as diamond
flurries come 
        s w i r l i n g
through the wispy wind, 
let these 
    ice-melting
letters t w i r l
before funeral carols, 
waltzing to the 
   whirlwinds of demise, 
as an evergreen epitaph 
engraved on the 
   tombstones of tomorrow.
For, I will wrap 
trembling torment
in a cosmic 
    blanket of baptized bliss,
stitched with
   leafy remnants
from weathered gardens.
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