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Poem
When the smoky quartz sun 
slumbers into a cold winter, 
    we see the aftermath of a garnet twilight, 
   it is then, we find rose stars 
that refuse to abandon us in shivering solitude, 
  and beneath snake-skinned skylines of nadir,
   we learn to appreciate 
           the truest colors of nature……
   
Hope is but a hollow rope,
hanging loose on empty lies~
splattered across eclipsed skies,
and this aching heart sighs,
singing to the fallen flowers,
fading into depths of 
black-magic silence,
for peace is a distant memory,
frozen within pixelated Polaroids
of poignant pain.

I remember the night
I was unplugged and strangled 
in toxic tremors, 
slipping into fatigued negligence,
too tired of fighting a 
battle with no prudence,
but no one hears the unspoken,
amidst the tears that 
croon in tragic tunes.

Now my mind is a muted mausoleum;
weathered and withdrawn,
impregnated with deceased dreams~
and remnants embalmed in poison ivy.
Yet diabolical thoughts 
keep whirling 
through funeral chaos, 
to cloak my conscience in 
a glass casket of sleepless uncertainties, 
smothering the last breath I held.

I do not seek an orchard 
blooming with butterfly orchids
and pristine pansies, 
yet, somehow, I am the wrinkled 
willow~
awaiting dancing rays 
of diamond twilight.

Perhaps this is how a poet grieves,
writing epitaphs with 
bloodstained ink,
when familiar faces are 
clothed in ivory farewells, 
to rest amongst the forgotten,
away from the cruelty that creeps.

I know not the synonyms for healing,
the poems I’ve woven beneath
starry skies now flow undone,
and I am burning, 
in my crippling confusion,
pondering why the sun is now
a curse in disguise,
why do I long to walk 
through forests of ruins,
where the mauve moon was,
when insomniac 
instruments of galaxies
strummed broken strings 
of feathered fate.

So take this poem, weave these words 
it into the final line 
of tasteless satires,
streaming in the 
  rhythm of zestless zenith, 
for I have no desire to
    pretend and play,
         or swirl and sway
when all I knew now is a 
melancholic mystery untold.
So listen to the rhapsody of tears~
I am a frazzled firefly,
eloquently tangled in the 
ruthless roots of jinxed junipers.
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