Petals of pain blossom into colours of Love

My soul is my guide.. Rumi I once adored the warmth of unreachable desires. Ascending too high, I fell from the sky just like Icarus. Suffering from the flames of fate, my eyes resembled a million candles burning tears of wax. But, I've always been familiar with fire, as I was born scarred from internal inflames. It's a blessing when strings of attachment cremate into ashes. Love is a vintage gold rose, an irreversible ideology, where thorns grow upon petals of pain. In an autumnal aura, all scents fade, so I remain in pale blackness - my sighs as heavy as smokeless tar. Yet, I know my soul will blossom, once again with robins in Spring, as scents of sweet almonds return with the rebirth of roses without thorns. In a world of imagination the colours of love are boundless. Romance is an opal rainbow over stormy oceans yearning for turquoise tides. If my heart was a gem, it would reflect like a scarlet diamond, walking upon malachite meadows, full of ivory orchids with purple lilies, admiring aquamarine skies, with hues of amethyst and citrine. We were all born to sparkle.. Under tones of indigo moonstone with hints of pink, my quill will scribble in lilac ink as love always returns. Simple Musing.