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Not worth much
but this heart is crushed,
clouds shedding morning raisins,
and like false-dews at the wake
of morning, blesses
and nourishes
earth and all that's within,
but can tiny droplets flood
empty vessels?
negligible disturbances cause
ocean waters to ripple?
maybe hope reignites,
when evening darkness calls
to the morning light,
and with the sun reaching
for a corner in the cloudy sky,
a calmness after the storm
could only be felt,
if only this shimmer of lights
could penetrate these
very depths,
or creates a rebound granting
wishes or fulfilling
dreams, like witnessing
a love rainbow not seen.
Two tiny little fingers crossed
under this foolhardy crunch
of dust,
under these sneaky stars
and a shadowy moon
still lies some moments of
truth,
though voiceless,
neither dumb nor deaf,
hale and hearty,
but like thunderous lightning
hidden behind the flashes
voiceless! a ritual of the quiet,
of silent whispers,
of the silenced whisperers,
life is a plot, a twist with time
at its center,
wellness and disaster,
full blown narration running
through these vile streets
on white-pages,
unfolds in phases, unveiling
the Phoenix's plight,
heaps of ashes
whence creations are reborn,
with their creators often outlived,
history is but a fool's proof
starve these colours,
they'd turn pale too.
Eclipse of the milky way,
shifting seasons, a shadowy
embrace, in interludes,
reminiscing nights before
the moment of solitude,
birth of pure cosmic mayhem,
friendly nightmare,
like dreaming realities
in real life,
dare to trick the mind to fly?
dividing lights casting
solace and doubts,
no way out is the only way out,
paint me a broken heart
in drenched feathers,
just in time to watch time flip
and of a sudden it's all over,
still we couldn't comprehend,
nor see past this descent,
this pattern, an habit,
pure humbleness from a
disgruntled reality,
we'd toss back and forth,
on hostile water bodies,
then hope we sail
these very shores to safety.
Skies of blue towering above all,
drawn curtains
which hideth away a soul
that belonged,
evening's mischief may hide
away a stabbing shadow,
and the moon withdrawn,
be as harbinger to the hollow,
riddle this minds further into
uncertainty, as melodious
soprano sings, elevating
lost souls seeking asylum,
wholly dependent
like dusk relentlessly seeking
the face of dawn,
but tonight will call, and all
shall heed its voice
we go to sleep and dream
our cravings,
but at the wake of the morning
light, we pay our dues
only to realize in the end,
we never truly owned anything,
not the breath that we breathe
not even this life as it is given.
Grand theft in the mines,
as this widow's mite creates
a craving for earthly paradise
ironic?
but time owns this twist,
creates a rift, a divide that only it
can breach
a bridge to walk on, or
bridge to burn?
each day a walkover,
joy in the after-weather,
after the cloudy sky moment,
new tide from an old current
we should start anew
reach for the ground like
mountain dews,
and pick up remnants,
from a world of words shattered,
disregarding the missing pieces,
perhaps it pays to seek peace
in pieces
where whole doesn't apply,
a surrogate paradise?
a heartfelt narrative, lost
but now found,
every once in a ounce,
tears in its wake, like always!
moments of truth or dare
no light at the end of this tunnel.
