Untitled
You are so sweet.
Your lack of flavor and taste,
The savory scent of maple and honey,
The absence is what makes you sweet.

Warm, you are warmth.
A brightness in a trail of blindness,
The flame that ignites the light,
I am the moth careless, drawn to burn.

Strength is what you are.
Force that pushes the earth towards the sun,
Earth that holds the endless oceans and seas,
Cupping the waters in your resilient hands.

You are shelter.
The trees that gives shade,
Leaves and wind making symphonies,
Lulling me to slumber of safety.

Like leaves falling down
Crumbling listening to Freddy
As he sang the ballad so sadly
Helplessly I succumb and drown

Such are matters of the heart
No one is ever too cunning or smart
For the cause we become foundlings
Victims we are nothing but weaklings

So what is there to deliberate
“You broken my heart” Freddy says
“Bring it home to me” and he prays.
But there’s only heartbreak to calibrate

Eyes wide open starring outside.
A web of Soft and comfy sheets tangled,
Clean walls and ceiling of bright white paint,
I woke up lost in a bed not of my own.

The thrilling scenes of the past few days,
Became the brewing storm in the ocean of us,
Lightning cuts through the darken stormy skies,
Thunders of the vociferous truth are never far away.

And so often the reality of the illuminating morning,
Brings unsettled thoughts that shadows the soul,
I dare not look on the other side to tackle my concern,
What I denied stubbornly and wouldn’t succumb.

A half closed door leading to a house of another me.
Shards of bittersweet nothings on the floor unclean,
Glitters like fool’s gold in the morning light at play,
I shut the entrance vowing not to violate a peek.

Dressed in finest with diamonds and pearls,
Draped in cascading waterfall of silk and lace,
Velvety scent hovering delicate skin,
Senses heightened, a muse enters the ball.

Lights, glitters, somehow the chandeliers reflect,
The festive and jovial non caring mob on the floor,
Flirty and inviting giggles and smiles of women,
Received by the charming and engaging flock of men.

I hear a toast of welcomes and greetings.
Glasses were raised of sweet bubbly champagne.
Wishes of well-being and welcome filled the room.
Faces passed into an recognizing blur of smolder.

But the reception was a well-played sham,
The festive, a rehearsed staged scene from your screenplay,
Artists are your familiars that act on your command.
With the exclusion of the maiden muse you invited.