Hailstorms in Heartbeats
In a flourishing vineyard,
I’m a vine bearing no fruit,
forsaken in the soil of twisted roots,
burnt and scarred in blistered blackness,
as the cosmic seeds engulf my skin~
with fiery flames of thunder
and scorching stones,
awakening demons to draw
darkness in drowsy strokes,
above this field of fiendish flowers.
Maybe this is the poem of a soul,
singing chaos to collapsed
clusters of leafless twigs,
drenched in rain and tears…
For my empathy, the lotus stars could see,
but you’ve long refused to feel
these aching refrains~
like hailstorms in heartbeats,
bleeding bonfires of woe, yearning to be heard…
Tonight I’ll find solace within ashes and thorns~
counting petals painted in pain,
pondering: if I were a rose,
would you thread rhymes of love
in syllables of gold and green?
Or would I still be nothing but a wordless sonnet,
lost between the waning rays
of forgotten sunsets,
resting in a sky of moonless rivers…
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