Desperate Hope
There is an illusion of dishonesty in darkness,
so we rejoice when spring sings saccharine serenades.
I've always been a soul yearning for summer scents,
but somewhere the seasons got lost in translation.
Not all honest hearts can remain evergreen,
when memories like wraiths of past demons,
echo in eerie vibrations of autumnal whispers.
The dark side of my mind is an oxymoron of fictional truth.
A harmony between her reality and my empathy.
I recall a lost childhood when the ghosts of winter besieged me,
as all the melted snow rotted my roots -
I pondered how do I regrow my frostbitten petals?
To determine the odyssey of my destiny,
I sowed a million seeds hoping you would
devour the nectar of my honeyed blossoms.
I finally found you awake like an insomniac,
in a sleeping wintery world of monsoon wickedness,
like a queen bee tangled in a cobweb of lies,
so I followed your scintillating silhouette
into a dark maze of silent shadows time had forgot.
I felt your pain through every window pane of your soul.
No one can heal all your hidden trauma,
but I can distract you from those unwelcome voices,
gathering all the shards of your cracked mirrors,
placing them into a purifying fountain of understanding.
I was artless within my garden,
until I swam in your artistic aquarium.
Oh my vintage rose,
you can be bronze, ivory or crimson,
I care not for the cover of your covert book,
for you remind me of my faith
in the dilemma of desperate hope.
I know sometimes I make mistakes,
but every time you cry,
I wish you would take my sight,
so you can see the world in a positive light.
If I could gift you an eagle's spirit,
maybe you would fly into my arms,
so when we watch the dreaming stars -
I would show how they shimmer in your eyes.
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