Arms of starry Skies
My eyes cry for
fuschia glimmer on
indigo waves again,
but all I see are
haunting hues
of black sequin
glittered epitaphs;
reflections of hollow
clouds enveloping cold air;
building tension
within my heavy heart.
I am surfing alone,
watching the life
of iron-grey cotton bows
swerve in
cashmere cadence,
whilst wiping away
smudged remnants
of shallow tears,
wishing that I could
obscure pain
with poetic phrases,
inked in cyan liquid,
as I weave charismatic
colors of sunrise,
perfumed with
redolence of roses,
to feel the heat,
as poetry spills
potions of sagacious
thoughts onto the saline
canvas of stolen
sapphire dreams.
But there in the
labyrinth of
an ice-green lagoon,
I’ve built a castle
beneath pellucid
salt waters,
a warm home where
every mysterious
metaphor written
for the honey-winged moon
turns into
crystal clear rhymes,
sewn from a blistering
poem of the ocean,
resting within a
glistening glass bottle,
awaiting to be
read and spoken.
So, today I’ll swim through
aesthetic torrents of torment,
Listen to the rhythmic
tunes of raging tides
within trembling silence,
as elements of truth
eventually resurface
from the depths
of turquoise topaz,
to set on the
porcelain horizon
where shorelines
shimmer from mulberry
shells and tantalizing
tulips twirling
beneath twinkling twilight,
for faith resides in the
arms of starry skies.
Someday, you’ll see past
the crimson curtain
of faux carnations
that clipped these
paper wings into
shapes of broken lines.
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