Author : Senyru
you seemed to dwell in its caves and abandoned
the elusive concepts of perception in favour of
your curiosity, echoes of silence and thoughts
that bled like ruptured arteries -
but, was it worth it?
I, unknowingly whispered the secrets of my muse
to winds that only learned to waltz to the beatings
of synchronized hearts - but, I neglected to ink
the notes of our composition,
I dread the day where I must confront the
truths of how I flirted with bereavement
even though I was betrothed to melancholy
(a beautiful mistress who loved to whistle
the hymns of forgotten pains).
Your countenance spoken in waves of regret -
like you drew parallel lines to the ambiguity
of the tinges of majestic purples, deep-jet blacks,
bountiful reds oranges and yellows that was found
on your palette whenever you wished to breathe
artistry on the canvass of night skies that were
to reflect you. You sought atonement in the alignment
of the stars - counting them away aimlessly (child-like,
innocent) with fervor that served as accoutrement
for your morale that embraced elegance and lament.
At the risk of sounding cliche - I clung onto you, like lint on sweaters.
...for I needed you to quell the quakes that brought travesty
to my realities that encompassed reveries that
bordered on pragmatism and infeasible doctrines.
..for I needed you to dawn the role of Lady Justice
and bring order to the unruliness of my empire as
I once thought leniency equated to the keeping of peace.
..for I needed you .. because I wanted. well rather want you.
Cowardice - it tasted mephitic upon famished
tongue but more so, since it provocated memories
and illusions of a past that I so desperately yearn to
repress and keep it tucked under veils of mist in the
recesses of my mind. I never told you the truth about
my infatuation with apocalyptic-nights and the
paleness of the moon that brought forth a sense
of clemency as it contrasted every
ill-mannered prayers. I drank wines that poisoned
me with ruthless clarity and proposed that
a heart of darkness is the lesser of two evils,
and as for the moon - I consumed a plethora
of fables of how she donned a white chariot
to serve as a petrifying reminder of mortality
and that we live on borrowed time..
and I never seized presented opportunities to
read into your novel - chapters that remain unexplored
while I marinate in your once saccharine words
that were tattooed on my heart (never on skin)
that were reminiscent of the ataraxia your
subconscious so desperately craved.
I found myself lost in your foreword, and
by mid-plot in the early pages of your beginning,
I felt the lashes of your affliction - though, I never
had the chance to learn why..
and as far as I know, the ink of the ending
is yet to dry on parchment.
Hurricanes and tornadoes pale to the storm that's
brewing in your heart, and no amount of engineered
levees can withhold when you choose to dispel
the pent up cries and screams that's been accumulating
for a half-dozen years. The sky will be blotted in your
tears flooding the canals of Venice with unuttered thoughts
while the lament in your voice oscillates like it was
solar wind kissing the atmosphere and birthing a sight
for sore eyes - you were always my aurora borealis
(in the coldest of voids, you were the one
thing made it bearable).
You once told me that you were skilled in the
ivory and ebony keys and the strings of a violin
that you nonchalantly plucked at with a bow
to orchestrate musical soliloquies that
kept hinting at sunken ships of the coast
of lighthouses. But the chartreuse of your irises
never faulted, and the paleness of your pink lips
won me over again and distracted me from
your overbearing Magna Carta.
... The fire of a dragon yearns through a heart's king
that beats the blood of a slave; through glory and
misery, he must learn to reign with a gentle
iron first. But even something as mighty
as a dragon can fall to a penguin..
...the poetry of your words left me with
and the winds of voyage coerced you to
set sail towards
an Arabian Night.
left to captors that drank from fountains
that could never quench their thirst for
knowledge (that they knew they could
The embers of your superfluous
words-forgotten still carve their presence
unto my skin in an impertinent attempt to
cling onto a thread of immortality - I'd
be lying if your thesis had not manifested
into something greater (to the likes of
the ever famous lopsided smile of
Mona Lisa) ... and it'd be a blatant
lie to deny that I always found myself
lost to the stardust of your eyes. I dreamed
of a cliff painted grotesque grey and the sky
with tinges of black and purple lingering
in the presence of a million odd stars
that gazed right back at us - even when
we were rendered breathless
in the magnitude of the resplendent cosmos,
and slowly intoxicating ourselves with
the realization that our existences are but a
minuscule speck on the time-line of space, I
found myself lost to the stardust of your eyes.
...and I know that you were swayed by tides
that were never addressed to you (like how you
enthused in sunsets and sunrises that
never sang your lullaby) and that's what captivated
me. You were always quick to drown in oceans
and sacrifice (more accurately volunteer) for lead
that were inscribed with names other than yours,
like you were keen to follow the mercenaries of midnight
rather than the domineers of dawn
but I never understood why.
In spite of all your pleasant mannerisms and the
polished air that you carried - why is it that your
soul gravitated towards means of seeking reparations
like your history is aggregated by sins
and wrongdoings that keep you plagued? You were
never in debt to sorrow - but that's all that your
mind is capable of
It still befuddles me that you think that you're
anything less than a masterpiece - you truly
are beautiful, intelligent, sophisticated and
walk with a rightful sense of elegance but
you've refuse to embrace the reality of
my repeated words....
you truly are beautiful.
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