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Poem

"You can never kill a poet,
their words are engraved for eternity." Silent One

To the one who personifies my poetic heartbeats,
every time you abandon me, silence is my nemesis.
I'm like an inkless quill reciting a chorus of sorrow,
but my analogy of tears appears invisible,
in an anthology with a misconceived vocabulary,
hidden behind false colours on a blank canvas.

I'm seeking sentimental rainbows in cloudy skies,
but all I see are a spectrum of rays on shattered shards.

In this pit of pity, I tell the wind to bless me with air,
before I suffocate, surrounded by lonely spirits.
I've explored every metaphor in this portfolio of poetry,
but I've become an innocent hostage to twilight's demise,
hoping the moon will remember me in its light and
if constellational flowers will inspire my words to
blossom once more to portray a portrait of porcelain verses,
before dusks rose and gold prelude to sunset.
I'm lost in a nocturnal nightingale's melancholy
reflecting the demise of a forgotten butterfly,
drowning in melodies of past seashell whispers,
where we were once like ripples on waves of nirvana.

We once floated like wild dandelion florets,
lost in a meadow of sunflowers,
like immortal flames in a mortal mind,
but since the death of dahlias, 
you summoned winter's garden and
I've been left with rows of thorns and thistles.

But even in the devastation of
these crescent times when dusty dreams are lost
within a summer haze of scorching fears,
whilst hawks soar above with their serpentine eyes,
I'll keep carving synthetic smiles ignoring illuminated
lies across an endless ocean of monochromatic planktons.

I'll always be a humble poet with a homesick heart,
swathed in bleached calendula, longing for a legacy of love,
where polished words resemble spilled sunsets and 
soulful sonnets, engraved in letters that sparkle like fireflies.

In virtual emancipation I tumbled upon
your forgotten promises glowing like crystals.
I heard your silent roar in a crumbling fortress,
waltzing in the wisps of cedar moors.
You were absorbed in leaving sandcastles behind,
upon white beaches embalmed in crimson hues,
so, why must I follow your shadows etched in silver mist?

I'll sacrifice my happiness, soothing the scars of your heart,
if you would remember our sepia peach romance that destiny has forsaken.
Perhaps, between the ruined music of starlight and silence,
this poetic secrecy flows to the rhythm of unspoken truth.

Maybe this is the last tango with the Grim Reaper,
as I'm tired from dancing on fire.
A life not lived only offers a fragile freedom,
in this seraphine and whipped moonlight.
My shattered heart reflects the moon,
as you illuminate like the last lighthouse -
guiding me in this eternal eclipse of cautious chaos.
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