Bloodstone Truth
If truth had a color,
when twilight bleeds
burgundy rivers,
you’ll find these garnet
eyes pleading
to be heard through
poetic sunsets.
For I’ve been swirling
and twirling
through nomadic illusions,
like a goddess of
thunder with a tiger spirit,
never letting go of
the history of hurt,
left by the unkind mind
of inhumane humankind-
which throbs deeper
than the sharpest thorns
in peacock feathers,
that I’ve danced to -
in flawless frequencies
amongst abstracts
of an architect.
If truth had a tune,
It would be too ferocious
to be unraveled,
the kind of fire that
dares to burn,
the hellish tombs of terror,
constantly pushing
every contrasting dream
to be feasted upon
satan’s last supper,
painting every salvage sunrise,
with strokes of petrichor scent
dipped in astral rain-dreams.
As I’ve been the
queen of the night,
longing to soar
across the horizon
where unconfined
eagles and golden dragonflies,
shall tranquilize
this publicized heart caged
as a motionless mannequin
in a glass mansion.
If truth was covered in furry skin,
to glaze skeletons veiled
beneath crooning clouds,
it would be the beginning
of an unstoppable ending,
of an immeasurable
brokenness resting as
irreversible numbness.
As I’ve seen storms
brewing bruises
through seas of sorrow,
amidst illusory lakes
of rose quartz,
streaming down
emerald hills,
hiding the grotesque
kingdom of fragmented gates.
But what if truth
never was a matter,
as it’s all but mere myth
floating along golden ripples
in a pool of sentimental stars.
What if truth was
once a maiden in distress?
What if truth was
once a shadow in search of light?
What if truth was a fool
hoping to be dressed
in dancing dandelions?
what if truth is what
has got this onyx heart on fire?
Perhaps, truth lays in
the arms of a clock,
waiting for it’s turn
to make time stop,
when lovers destined to meet,
rebuild chess of life in ruins,
as footsteps on
glistening glaciers
reveal the secrets
left by snow angels
leading us back to
an unbreakable moon affair.
Copyright ©
Ink Empress
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