Dreams bereft
but
not left,
could cloud
an empty sky.

Tears bled
but
not shed,
could fill
a silent pool.

Letters penned
but
not sent,
could consume
a tranquil wood.

Doors blocked
but
not locked,
could allow, yet,
a drop of Sun

enter the
shut,
not sealed
tomb,
and breathe

life, into
what
got cleaved:
waltzing
intertwined vines.

Yours is not to question, Why not?
Yours is to sit alone at night and cry.
Yours is to accept that,
you will not win;
you will die trying.
Yours is to dream of a world
that could have been
if only one more soul stood along
and then another, and another …
but alas!
Yours is to vision the ceiling melt into a starry night.
Yours is to pick a spot amongst their mighty company.
Yours is to shoot across it in a brilliant streak,
that slows time,
and for an instant,
which seems stretched into eternity,
all those stars cease blinking,
and night turns to day.
And in that brilliant diamond world,
you'll live forever;
a star for stars.

Art I worthy of such privilege
To love thine true beauty?
For I'm but a humble stalk, my  
silent flower
aloft resplendent in a Sun beam
conferring meaning to life.

Alas! perfidious winds grieve
as a triste petal trickles
to the ground rent asunder
in the capricious hands of fate
I metamorphose to a sceptre  
you a jewel in its crown.

And it is in sight* -
a vision of the world through the eyes of one's soul,
rather than,
a vision of one's soul through the eyes of the world -

for those who -
imagine sunrise when all else see sunset,
are the ones,
who can turn the world up side down -

believe -
never give in and accrue wealth,
but set their mind free;
go out, and change the currency.

This beauty that we see,
of the future; how it can be,
and we want the world to know,
so we fight and die to show.
But a flower of genius must fall,
So the tree of wisdom may grow,
And soon in Spring,
its petals in wild winds will blow.
With a message:
No power can build walls so high,
that can stop the winds of change.

Calumny for extortion
Bias confirmation by distortion

Pitchforks and torches in the dark
The unleashed hounds of hell bark

Unbeknownst, the grievant scurried
Foremost the truth is buried

A self-righteous mob clamour,
incensed by allegations gossamer.

'Tis true, the devil dwells within
Pray who? 'em Beguiled by spin?

In introspection lies the key,
but they smash the door, to see

the ominous figure, in a hood,
is but a lover of faith, and good

actions in pursuit of greater good
are the easiest to be misunderstood.

But before the monster in defence spoke,
defiant torches took the house in smoke.

Midst falling cinders dawned comprehension,
blood scrawled: “it lies in self-ascension.”

Through the rejections and all the hate,
Just before your faith crosses the Pearly Gates,
Though allegedly claimed impossible by the Fates^,
taps you on your weary shoulder - "Hi,
could you help me, no one else is ...” -
the lonely voice of your soul-mate^^.

^Rumour has it those Greek hags have stock options
in the military-industrial complex, the cosmetics industry,
and favour Eris's 21st century avatar called Consumerism.

^^Your soul is not a super-market produce,
For feckless mass appreciation or consumption.
Your soul is a dauntless beautiful sapling, that
'the one' will rescue from its interminable fire,
and nurture it, till it blossoms and glows.