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The Face of War, 1941, Salvador Dali

O moon,
   the blood-rose pearl
            of my aching soul,
the ghostly seer of hourglass woes ~
heed these wistful words ~
forgive the dreadful quivers
between cacophonous quiescence, 
tremors within lungs of lament,
     spears of piercing p a i n ...

Read through deep obsidian
eyes of empathy;
I remain not blind,
but blurred and bruised
in fear of the valley of violence.

I kneel upon the Sahara of sorrow,
pleading on the cusp
of weathered wounds,
breathing macabre runes
entombed in the 
desert of rain and ruins,
recalling calligraphies
scripted with tanzanite tears
on the trembling towers of torment ~
as mind exhales,
perplexed and possessed
c o n s u m e d  with 
bullet-struck blossoms,
flowers weeping in sync with
searing streams of desolation.

While silent spectators remain
unaware of the heavens mourning,
for the world is bleeding;
the earth lies scarred and cursed,
the sky is charred with innocent cries,
the wind drizzles funeral thorns
upon the spine of dying dunes ~
walking through reality
that screams of amplified brutality,
echoing skeletal stillness
stitched to roots of agony,
crocheted with
crystalline strands of 
        distressed supplication.

But will peace defeat
the scorching storms
    of blinding thunder,
and forgiveness unveil
an onyx blanket sewn
   with star-ridden serenity,
smothering ticking
        grains of uncertainty?

Perhaps hope still glows ~
erasing nightmares,
thawing frozen heartbeats
into throbbing blues ~
dreams of black dahlias
drifting beneath dulcet dawns,
oblivious to the haze of hate.

Reptilian thrones, laden with venom,
coiled crowns,
ruling the grieving globe
with daggers dipped in deceit,
weaponizing the weary
with fingers forged
like poisoned blades of trickery ~

as if we, the poets, will speak not
the truth in metaphors
and rhymes,
           in cryptic cadence …

So let the shadows 
of sinister cerulean follow my name,
I, an amateur silhouette
scribbling with flawed ink
a hymn to the hope
that still thrives,
like fragments of fortitude 
unfurling a nocturnal potion
handcrafted with love ~
     regal and resilient
against a world carrying the weight
         of snakes and bones,
           of blisters and screams
           of c o
                  l 
                  l
                 a p
                    s
                 e     d  humanity...

Copyright © Ink Empress

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