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Written: May 20, 2025, for contest Sponsored by: Karen Jones
Inspired from Prince Song: When Doves Fly
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I slipped the mirror mournful cry,
Where silhouettes lick the silvery sky.
There is no name or voice left to claim—
There was just airless slate and a flame.
 
 A corroded sun starts to drown,
 Its crown is a ring of ash and sound.
 I donned my wreckage as a hymn,
 Stillness buried the spirit within.

Celestial bodies discard where I've bled,
But roots remember every word I said.
I attempted to heal what mercy had torn,
With hollow hands—unclothed and forlorn. 

The breeze once sighed, "I could rise,"
 But each move was imbued with lies.
 I hooked my terror to phantom gates,
 I spotted it glitter, and now it waits.
 
I am unable to contain what life remains,
 Each flicker is exhausted to yearn again.
 So I inspire the twilight to bend—,
 Allow me flames and reach an end.
 
 If light emerges, avoid letting it blaze—
 Allow it to fall softly in darkened haze.
 Not involving a savior's dazzling flame,
 Yet anguish interacts through my name.

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