Ivory Flakes

In the mirrors of Moirai kismet and karma kiss adoringly, unaware of this betrayal they label as life. In the hallucination we call birth, words whisper like bitter winds, composing a metaphorical manuscript, weaving a quilt of invisible inflictions. Silent screams serenade in childhood bloodshed, where no messiah arrived to rectify sins of saints - so some languish among abandoned souls. Modern monsters no longer hide beneath the bed, they feast amongst our freshly prepared banquets. In a fathomless pit, I'm slaying prosaic demons, before indigo hues turn ebony - who are they to destroy my dreams? I never heard the birds sing in a playground of lucid lullabies. I still recall the ghosts of featherless angels, swaying upon swings adorned in garlands of grief. Their eternal spirits flickering in silver embers, evolving into perpetual vessels of reflection.   Confused in a realm of revolving doors, tarnished paths only withhold wrath, leaving behind trails of trauma, where twisted trials lead to disfigured destinies. Glass hearts only break in battles with burdens, so our spirits become victim to Medusa eyes. When each sigh flows like a slow poison, we search for virgin daffodil dawns, as distractions to numb the pain. Fatigued from the battles from those who rebel against our hearts - we seek solace from sojourners of invigoration. Blessed are those who connect with universal harp strings. Who merge with the sacred aura of music. Who notice the stars before twilight, comprehending the glory of sunrise, as an analogy against adversity. I was not designed to be a flower, contained in a snow globe, covered in ivory flakes when shaken. I have forgiven the blameworthy, who are guilty for chaining an inner child, but I'm still waiting to break free. Before I waste away and my thorns decay, ordain upon me the fortune to cradle love - let me flourish in the field where Rumi's roses bloom.