Life is a song,
incomplete, yet soothing—
lullabies lulling the world to sleep
with its balladic lilt, gently swaying
to the depths of its nomadic
syncopation.
Where I can subdue archaic
hieroglyphics in hues of
rose gold notes, invading my
tentative aura, glistening upon
tragic horizons,
for the wandering seekers,
freely waltzing to arias of the moon,
escaping unsung passages to
desolate wastelands,
where fiends roam in spite;
surviving the clusters of
rain drenched clouds,
draining the life out of
sunken nocturnes,
lost in cataclysmic paradoxes
overshadowed by waves of
monotonous soliloquy.
Yet I crave the aphotic harmonies of
its flesh and bones,
cocooned in the stillness of
shadows that align,
stonewalling the
world so bent on exposing me—
finding my true element,
inhabiting where life meets its end credits,
resuscitating sentiments long forgotten,
enabling me to breathe.
Categories:
balladic, dance, dark, life, song,
Form: Free verse