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Poem
As you start to walk out on the way, 
      the way appears.- Rumi  

Tonight, I speak to the moon,  
lunar verses echoing the piercing  
lyrics of an aching heart.  
Its crystal wings softly  
kiss the sea line in silence,  
releasing silver ripples  
of renaissance,  
while the sun awaits another  
dahlia dawn, graced by  
delicate symphonies of  
fairy-feathered fantasies.

Time is a treat ribboned  
with truth and testaments  
of melted monsoons,  
left as souvenirs of the past,  
on shimmering shores  
of fragile flowers.  
I was once a broken ballad,  
bruised and battered  
like an ornament left  
on a haunted island,  
where every breeze felt  
like the seething sounds of sirens,  
awakening demons within  
my chrysalis psyche,  
to cloud the horizon  
painted with pigments of peace.

Trust was an ink blot  
I spilled upon oceans  
of blue-black pearls,  
oblivious to the cracks  
and faded glows of opalescence,  
for I was a naive target  
of narcissistic daggers,  
caressing my skin with  
pestering perceptions.  
As I wore my wounds  
like corsets crocheted  
with crooked compassion,  
too eager to embrace  
wrathful winds~
bursting forth infernal flames,  
while drenched in the  
subtle dews of raging rain.

If I were to tell the world  
the person I used to be,  
could I write without  
my fingers trembling,  
without the weakened words  
of weariness that weighed me down?  
For I knew not what love was,  
and I knew not  
dreams of strength, 
runes of resilience,  or the 
unbreakable gravity of forgiveness.

Yet I rise, beyond faceless ghosts,  
soaring above nameless streets  
of pointless thoughts.  
I am now everything I was not;  
I am both shadow and light,  
seeking and waltzing to  
the music of my own magical fight.  
So remember, 
the furs and claws,  
the water and fire,  
outlining the garnet~
aura of my ambient existence.
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