Cerulean Seclusion

In blackness, I hear forked tongues whisper wicked witchery, hope within arthritic ink slowly f a d e s as darkness descends upon snow-speckled heart, and a murder of crows can be heard~ cawing amidst flamingo fogs carrying thoughtless art, over the rolling hills enveloped with murky memories… there I stretch these breathless fingers~ gingerly reaching for cashmere curtains, reflecting on jaded surfaces adorned with lost dreary dreams drenched in scentless deceit. But as liquified light of the milky quartz moon stream, I ponder, could I be the one you think of when stars shimmer above lunar-kissed lakes~ while cauliflower clouds drift amidst musical mists? For I hear my name in your plum poetry, serenading love in magnetic marigold metaphors… Perhaps, there is no right rhyme to reminisce~ when every forsaken rhythm, and broken ballad is spoken through unbending sangria silence. Yet, tonight I gaze beyond trembling skies, hoping that maybe one day, waning constellations can see the crystalline colors of my tainted truth, how the glow within me has been f r o z e n~ left hanging in swollen syllables of sorrow, while I await glorious gifts of glistening rain to pour… whimsical wind and pulverizing waves can feel, how my soul thinks in ironic idioms mourning misplaced musings~ with fickle verses that phased this eclipsed canvas with restless phrases, fragranced with forgiving refrains. I wonder is this another dreadful beginning, or might this be a blissful ending, of a thunderstruck tale that strikes, from the honey-glazed abyss of unknown gloaming… Tomorrow, when twilight twinkles~ orchestrating ethereal anthems, in charismatic cadence, find the silken silhouette of tear-stained tulips from my garden of grief~ there they sprout in cerulean seclusion, between fleeting feathered lines of daisy dusk and daffodil dawn.