Journal
“To live in hearts
we leave behind
is not to die.”
Thomas Campbell
If I could colour grey clouds of grief
I wrap them in sky's sapphire relief
I'd dim delusional pale peridot eyes to wake up to your violet voice
Grey clouds of grief
I'd rewind to my childhood cherished times
Burying creepy crawling tainted tears in streams
Pursuing my twisting teal path of dandelion dreams
For I'm drowsy from howling hollow cries
I no longer desire to be feral like a fox
My heart isn't like a rackley rock
I'm melting internally my thoughts are on ice in a brittle block.
I yearn for resilient rose quartz squirrel whispers
As dawn of sangria
September arrives
Intoxicated by the air of stirring leaves magenta memories
Your first amber autumn anniversary
I seek strength from the vines of
transforming time
I don't strive to be stuck within a storm of silent sonnets in my journal at nighttime.
I long for a life again of daring escapades
Maybe hereafter
I will depart for the opium seas
It's the only place I'm free to be an antique version of me.
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