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.