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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required "Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it."~ Rumi Dear Diary, I’m a hopeless romantic, a sentimental sonnet scribbled from the silent heartstrings of a mysterious muse. Forgive me for another redundant prose; Cupid too despised my last love-sick letter enveloped in lavender lipstick, written with lethargic i n k.. Although I’m still an unheard verse, a poetic paradox etched across thin lines of mauve lunar lace, drifting amongst metered clichés flagged as an unrhymed riddle, rafting along rippling regrets, woven with orchid oxymorons. But it all started with a blank canvas when the cruel fangs of monsoon monsters drenched paper roses within, leaving a forlorn field of black thorns and blood-stained thistles. I remember musky taste of vanilla rain while I unfurled my fragile fingers, caressing cold dandelion clouds~ questioning the moon in melancholic tunes. What is truth but a faceless tarp? Is life but a breathing lie for sapphire stars sleeping amidst the rising sun? Are we mere dreamers living a myth scripted as fantasies untold? It is through confusion that we find constellations of clarity~ to rise above shackling gravity, this opalescent orb is oblivious to the magic flowing as madness, labelling poignant pigments in my palette, drawn from the tunnels of thin veins, as thick-skinned sagas of a succubus floating across Lilith’s lethal lake of rustic reflections. Maybe we are mere poets weaving hope amidst meaningless scribes, veiling our vision from seeing beyond scribbles soaring along hazy horizons. Yet, I tremble at tulip thoughts of dahlia doodles, for your ivory garden is my weakness and strength, pulling violin vines of my ebony soul to orchestrate an opera that serenades sunflower symphonies composed to cleanse foggy mists, blindfolding icy sighs within fiery emerald eyes. If this were to be my final rune purging upon pages hanging like silver lanterns in your ceramic cerulean, remember me, the mistress of bleeding ballads, healing from swollen syllables of fading sunsets. Sincerely, a lost weaver of lyrical woes…
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