Cerulean Seclusion
In blackness,
I hear forked tongues
whisper wicked witchery,
hope within arthritic
ink slowly f a d e s
as darkness descends
upon snow-speckled heart,
and a murder of
crows can be heard~
cawing amidst flamingo fogs
carrying thoughtless art,
over the rolling hills
enveloped with
murky memories…
there I stretch these
breathless fingers~
gingerly reaching
for cashmere curtains,
reflecting
on jaded surfaces
adorned with lost
dreary dreams drenched
in scentless deceit.
But as liquified light of the
milky quartz moon stream,
I ponder, could I be
the one you think of
when stars shimmer
above lunar-kissed lakes~
while cauliflower clouds
drift amidst musical mists?
For I hear my name
in your plum poetry,
serenading love
in magnetic marigold metaphors…
Perhaps, there is no
right rhyme to reminisce~
when every forsaken rhythm,
and broken ballad
is spoken
through unbending
sangria silence.
Yet, tonight I gaze
beyond trembling skies,
hoping that maybe one day,
waning constellations
can see the
crystalline colors
of my tainted truth,
how the glow within
me has been f r o z e n~
left hanging in
swollen syllables of sorrow,
while I await
glorious gifts
of glistening rain to pour…
whimsical wind and
pulverizing waves can feel,
how my soul
thinks in ironic idioms
mourning misplaced musings~
with fickle verses
that phased
this eclipsed canvas
with restless phrases,
fragranced with
forgiving refrains.
I wonder is this
another
dreadful beginning,
or might this be
a blissful ending,
of a thunderstruck
tale that strikes,
from the honey-glazed abyss
of unknown gloaming…
Tomorrow, when twilight twinkles~
orchestrating
ethereal anthems,
in charismatic cadence,
find the silken silhouette of
tear-stained tulips
from my garden of grief~
there they sprout in
cerulean seclusion,
between fleeting feathered lines
of daisy dusk and
daffodil dawn.
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Ink Empress
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