Three sides to every Story
Truth is the singing spark
within your soul and the
compassionate veins
of the porcelain moon,
composing lullabies
like an arcane talisman,
when words are mere
daggers to the heart
that aches for an
empathetic empyrean.
I’ve written tales with tortured ink
in silence beneath starless skies,
when the music of life fades
into salt-soaked sands,
drenched in monotonous beads
of obsidian mists,
listening to the golden grains
in the wishing well,
whisper poetic verses
of unwritten reality,
for, between erased lines
of every story,
there are three sides~
one that would illuminate
the flame of a raging rose,
while the sun before the pouring petals
reignites the cosmic candle
burning amidst liquid darkness.
But what if the rest
of what is left in this story
isn’t for you to read?
Perhaps, in hushed stillness,
when birds breathe
there in the breeze that
carries the chorus of
a nocturnal nightingale,
you shall find
languid lyrics I’ve buried
in the deep blue abyss
where coldness floats.
So let these unsung letters
weave confetti dreamcatchers,
ringing tunes of twinkling twilight
when loneliness cloaks
the periwinkle pillow
where you hide your
piercing pendulum,
in riveting restlessness,
as mismatched metaphors
within misinterpreted dialogues
remain mere white noise,
and my love would linger
like sakura streaks
caressing your silhouette
in secret, while every page
of the novel
translates the sincerity
of romance~
forsaken,
yet
not
forgotten….
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