As the sun sinks into the sand,
The pink streaks in the sky
Reflecting in the irises of my eyes
Fade away, leaving my heart empty.

Restless, I ****** up the icy rocks
Skipping it across the water
With each splash
I catch the encasing of the dormant half moon

So small in the corners of my eyes
Clouds clear, leaving the stars stark naked
Clutters of them mingling
Intertwining, attaching, collapsing

They pull me near
Their enchantment under the half moon’s
Drag me closer and closer
Until I feel the rushing waves reviving my senses

The tide rises
My time races
The gleaming half moon smiles
Down to me, grazing my cheek with its pure white lips

Amongst the shooting stars and milky way
From far, far beyond this deep galaxy
Eyes fixated, pupils dilated
My half moon hangs softly, shining from above

I write to you,
In the stars that loom,
My dear half moon,
stay for me.

Humans are always oh, so curious
their hunger for knowledge never subsides
and me— as a prime example of a human
pondered quietly in the dripping rain
“what if walls could talk?”

If walls could talk to me,
I would be able to run a news station
broadcasting blocks of news
across dozens of countries

I would release their haunting, beautiful, aching stories
to the public
for everyone to open their eyes
and understand each other
to relish in the aftertaste of candour
to comprehend history’s course
to apprehend our future’s course

to create peace

or would it lead to war?

If walls could talk to me,
would they lie and cast me out
to the world where I’ll be judged
for being crazy enough to believe
these walls
that literarily keep our walls up
are breaking mine down

But… if I don’t tell anyone about what I hear
will these walls haunt me
whispering nonsense and truth
until i see no line in between
driving me insane for belief

If walls could talk to me,
would they tell me the best things about history?
or would all the gore and unfortunate sacrifices
in their repertoire of sick realism
leak out their cracks into mine
demolishing my nature

i’d often forget that knowledge can make or break a person —

*so walls, if you hear me now
do not talk to me
do not tell me anything
do not let me know the secrets of life
for the sake of my sanity and yours.

Yours, Mine, Theirs.
Eyes, here and everywhere.

Your eyes tell stories
that can never be foretold,
the deception it writes
only for you to hold.

The blue of your vibrant lens
electrically conversing to me,
striking and intricate
in its details to be free;

Where trapped thoughts and mindless actions
dispute in a ring,
in the rims
of those multicoloured Siamese Twins.

With every emotion,
your daunting colours change,
from storm grey to rose gold,
I ponder to your range.

There's everything in me,
from what I see in you;
except the burning red compassion
for the love I held you through.