Email Poem

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Personal Note:
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Poem
To my beloved, when the language 
of romance fades into rivulets  
rippling with reddish rage…  
Before your petal like nature
withers in the subsequent storm,
remember….

In my loneliness, I gather  
thorns and thistles,  
immune to their twinges.  
I've become too reluctant to 
thrive amidst jinxed jewels  
veiled in cracked constellations.  

Yet I wish upon calming pale pearls,  
while plunging into lethal lakes,  
where darkness covers the sparkling sky, 
It's energy decaying flowering faith.  
Unable to curate colors that illuminate  
wading weeds of woes  
in the garden of grief I’ve narrated, 
with bleeding hands  
and narcissistic blossoms. 

And when ebony hues burn
deep into my visions,  
tears within my arctic heart,  
quiver in silence, searching 
for an aesthetic form of poetry,  
to sew these crippled letters  
swimming through  
my vain veins full of vengeance. 
The rhapsody of ribboned regrets,  
dwell in blinding blackness,  
while I’ve long been the  
tsunami hiding behind  
an enigma entwined  
from sun-freckled masquerades,  
intoxicated through self-  
inflicted triggers that  
tremble when light befalls,  
to sprout lilac lilies  
and raspberry red roses.  

So if tomorrow, I forget  
the intrinsic ingredients of poetry,  
losing my will to  
symbolize the pain I’ve caused,  
reread these verses,  
for I am an envelope of  
unsent apologies  
and dried dahlias,  
suffocating in solitude,  
too afraid to ride into  
sunflower dawns,  
awaiting an eternal  
embrace of forgiveness,  
relentlessly singing  
sorrows through  
mysterious metaphors,
regretting past vents. 

In between torn pages  
is where my dreams soar,  
to be the sunrise dipped  
in hues of hope,  
composing confessions,  
when these fingers refused  
to find a synonymous ray,  
to unfold fluorescent rainbows  
draped in purple auroras.  

I couldn’t talk about it,  
so I wrote a poem,  
wishing I can right  
the unspoken wrong;  
stinging scars  
and scorching stars,  
while turning ashes into  
glistening gems and  
fearless fuchsias,  
rephrasing toxic patterns  
from poignant tercets,  
cathartically reigniting  
the flames of  
twilight aquamarine.  

This is I, the flawed sonnet 
sealed in kismet kisses,  
yearning to be read  
in the cashmere cadence  
of your enchanting accent.
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