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Poem
In a world where I do not exist,  
stars will still glow like sequins of lilac.  

Nightingales would serenade hope,  
fields of fickleness would fade,  
unfolding grains of gold in bloom,  
cultivated with candor and calmness.  
The moon will be your muse,
bleeding sea-snail soliloquies,  
breathing colors of crimson red,  
while twilight twinkles  
in sizzling streaks,  
like fireflies flickering fervent flares,  
reflecting auroras in neon blue,  
strewn like pink pearls of peace.  
There, the trickle of serene  
water will pass.  
Yet I’ll be but a mere speck  
of galactic sand,  
entombed in an onyx casket  
of Reaper’s promises~
unreachable and unattainable.  

Poetry will cease to echo  
like a raging radio blaring off-key,  
with splitting riddles of drama  
reverberating amplified angst within.  
There will be one less problem  
manipulating its way  
into deafening chaos;  
desperate for attention,  
drowning in despair  
and endless darkness,  
bringing gales of grief  
while the horizon barely lights up,  
where twisted metaphors  
transcribe Lilith’s mantras  
into kohl caves of shrieking shadows.

But what is life without the  
sun’s fiery embrace exhaling love,  
in sync with the heartbeat’s hymn?  
When everything once  
written and chronicled  
now serves as a token  
of tormented tercets weeping  
mementos of melted misery,  
within the hellish grave of innocence.  

No longer will you be caged  
like a wingless eagle  
awaiting frost-free skies adorned  
with wildflower wishes,  
to soar and drift amidst  
the citrus scent of perfumed rain.  

Artists would create  
constellations of cubism~
crafting stellar romance.  
Illustrations of twin flames would  
render what could have been  
in a wintry fairytale,  
cosmically curated by raindrop angels,  
manifesting meadows thriving  
in the musical mists of tomorrow.  

The astral roses within  
your soul will sprout,  
believing that the gossamer beauty  
of butterfly brushstrokes lasts;  
happiness will ebb and flow  
in perfect rhymes.  
Tears will no longer drape  
the lunar light  
like lusterless diamonds.  
Soothing droplets of kismet spring  
will gently patter  
against amethyst valleys.  

There will be no unheard cries  
or voiceless farewells  
whispered in silent sighs.  
Silhouettes of deceased sunflowers  
will be a familiar remnant,  
and in those illusions,  
you might think of us—  
lost moments time did steal.  
No bruised ego will  
veil soulmates fated to be.  
And maybe then the balmy  
breeze will cradle you to sleep,  
where you and I will forever be one,  
like timeless candles illuminated  
 with dahlia drizzles.
For I’ll love you despite these demons~
    infinitely beyond dreams and death…
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