Upon the ceiling
My hopes swam into grave deception,
Erasing their colours
and embracing the lust of redemption.
With my head on the ground
and burying my feet in the sky,
I leave my conscience shatter all around,
While my sins lie in a silence so profound...
Forever, in dust they lie.
Thoughts fade my body in that lost corner,
Unto grace the prays grimy shout over
The infected ceiling, where helpless desires once became dew.
Voices write about how those opaque aspirations flew
To the coal ending called sky,
Beside a summer of memories, broke lively into a lie.
Black birds with no shape
On the astral hue
Where a chromate rounded eye
Cram, vanquish and deny
Icarus wings forgotten truth.
Clouds have this delussional construction.
They look heavy, but dive easily in the highest skies.
They seem consistent, but you'll find emptiness in their insides.
They shine with passion, when Sun comfort their dark sides,
but their core scream shallow vowels, when the rays candlelight dies.
They are made of marvelous shell and promises.
Now their true face ran out of disguises,
Now their lies taste like a cruel truth,
Destroying wordless ponds of my silent youth.
They are made of failed hopes,
Long invoked by a half living corpse.
They quickly vanished away, ashamed of their fail
Scattering a nest, while thoughts crave for their trail.
Once lucid and life giving,
ensuring a world painted in more than one colour.
There they stand...in that soft looking terror,
While, on a flooded carpet, a life was painfully sinking.
Where should my mind find peace?
When will my life start over? When?
It's too late, the rain has started now...
One hope, after another..I could feel them- they're fierce.
They've been abandoned, somehow...
They will rise again, falling on the dust's grease.