A haze which diminishes as soon as it reaches the mist,
Like fleeting doubts, vanishing when touched by the truth.
A flare ignites, ablaze with bloom,
A fleeting passion that rises, then dissipates into the air.

Wings once admired now the cause of my loathing,
They carry the weight of regret, dragging me down.
A crass look with certain affix envelops the blue and green,
Turning purity into something stained, twisted by perception.

Enchantment of protection lifts the seal of the ballad,
Revealing the song of pain and redemption beneath.
I stand behind the fog of prism,
The world distorted, hidden from clarity, trapped in illusion.

A blink for a second leaves a scar full of nightmares,
The weight of time, etched into the soul, haunting the quiet.
Withstanding the dark with a glimmer of gold,
A fragile hope shining through the shadows, faint but bold.

Rosy layers with sweet enchantment,
One can't describe the entrances to a world unknown.
The blush of wind and serene of lake,
Forgiving the redemption within the being, a soft, silent grace.

Waiting for the clock to turn the wheel,
Knowing the length that the being has woven,
With certain exclamations into the poetry song of poets,
With redemption whispered softly, bringing hope anew.

Having the protection of the hue,
Making the unknown shiver with harm,
A force unseen, yet ever-present,
Guarding the soul from deeper scars.

The being, knowing whom protection was,
Having lifelong regret for not saying goodbye,
With tears falling from both eyes,
A sorrow that time could never erase.

Spirits blow the wind to guide the being,
Towards the end where the journey concludes,
Having the ballad of constellations,
A final song written in the stars, forever illuminating the soul’s path

There is a constellation that knows you well, a piece of heaven that saw you take your first steps,
a clusters of stars that watched you fall asleep and hushed you when you dreaded the burst of darkness overhead.
They knew your story.
They sang your lullabies.
They fished out the moon out of the lake and washed off its impurities so you can hold soft light in your hands.
They braved the rabid bites of winter so they can fill your pockets with the sun.
They’ve always wanted you to sail North, away from the wasteland polluted with emptiness, upstream in a kayak, where the lakes sing your name.
Until like most stars, you dipped your toes in the pond and burnt out.
The stars they call you—reignite once again.

The universe spins and swirls.
Mixing dreams both light and dark.
My ship's hull darts through
Molten caffeine.
I sail in search of the constellation
Closest to your lips.
Like a myth the coffee's steam rises.
Mounds of sugar crystal urchins
scrape the bottom of my ship.
Some frozen in place.
The horror of old wives tales I've heard.
The center of the cup hotter than hot.
Stories of no survivors.
Circling and spiraling in the center
Of a ceramic mug.
I can no longer tell how high the steam
Rises.
I now see that the stories are true.

Through the lens of my telescope.
I see it.
The nebula of your face.
It won't be long now.
Steadfast.
The curve of your lips.
I am now one with the universe!

We were once told that we are the missing part of someone else with an empty heart and a lost soul, taking the absurd, roaming around the world as barely whole.

And as I look at two points, a double vision
meeting the one'******, unwaveringly— a north star, perfectly aligned upon the night sky. An anchor to a heart, it is engraved deep in waves, tumultuously enfolding each flesh— a longing as to be found in the wilderness, a pillar as to be run into, safely.

And though my love clung to a myth,
bounded to a constellation embodied us
and traced in our palms, they will remain a story from the past.

I sooner learned that stars burn as quickly as they are born.

Forever intertwining for eternity, echoing into the unknown.

But one day I finally understood.

No matter how far we traverse.

No many how many times we break in a sense we will always be as we are.

Leaving pieces of each other behind in everything.

Building our life and leaving behind pieces of ourselves, merging and breaking like little stars.

Making our own constellations.

-Rain

Within the purple walls
of my dorm room
a quiet heart began to flutter.
Perhaps it started when you wrote:
"Artemis, happy not valentines day"
on the day after fourteenth
and made it much more special
with an overused brown paper bag
and a Chuck Palahniuk.

Now at home, even within the white walls
of my own room--
I'm missing you.
my quiet heart has just been silenced
but you're there
in every The Flash episode I watch
in every taro drink I get
and in every text message I receive
hoping
for the slightest chance
of you being there.
Because, after all, you are
the Orion I could only ache for from afar.

It's always you, whom I miss
It reminds me of the perfect blue
on purple sky,
I attach him on a beguiling lullaby retracting the memories of the sea
where the strings like constellations
connect us; You can never be apart from the ocean.