I am an immigrant
lost in a foreign land.
lost in the language.
Abandoned in the promise of home.
Sacrifice wells its tears in the eyes.
Alone, further the thought sits in.
The breaking of trust twists
and turns in the chest.
Not a soul to turn to.
Not anything reminiscent of home.
The thought of your name brand new.
A place my dreams could roam free.
Stuck in the anticipation of being
a part of you.
I've wandered the streets of your name.
Ambition, now lost and afraid.
Once eager to climb the ladder of your
streets.
In truth all of it was a dream.
Your kiss now dried, now hallow.
Your hand now chipped and flaked.
I've told you my truths
My dreams.
You've turned a blind eye.
Swallowing me in your cracks.
Forever lost in the dark

The moon shines bright overhead, gleaming and proud, the undisputed king of the night. But his reign comes to an end soon enough. Streaking colour shows its extravagant self meekly, under a band of presiding dark blue. The blue marches ever on, stately and cool in his mission. Where he is going I do not know, only that I can never follow quite as quickly. He gives way to dainty pink scars climbing the canvas, much in the way a mum gives way to a child growing in wisdom and in stature. The collection of onlookers isn't quite sure what comes next and hangs in celestial silence as the scene unfolds before them. Behind them, a quiet wonder turns the canvas from blue to purple. No one was more shocked than I to see violet light from the heavens in the face of a yellow ruler. The rebellious purple seems to realise his folly and quickly transformed into a pink of sorts, a much more agreeable shade for the occasion. I miss his first grin though, the unapologetic first hue, the dare to be new. From here it is slow going until it isn't anymore. I stare at the same striped world as handmaidens rush to awaken all who are needed for a sunrise. Even now I can see from where life will rise, such a golden carpet is already rolled out. It will be very long until he makes an appearance, but I shall wait. I will wait for him because he is my love, my heart, my one. I will stay all day and night to see him anew if he decided to stay away for a day.
My world is more sky than land, to which I am tied. Whether an act of mercy or pride, I see the sky every day from afar, always yearning to be drawn closer some day and find myself laying in the hands of the stars.
Finally the scuttling onlookers are rewarded with touches of heat and light and life from my love, and they seem to shrink away. Why would some run from him? What causes one to leave so enthusiastically when he has finally come? It's the jubilation time, what a time to be alive!
The moon hangs nearly where he started, dully marking the sky. Half proud and waning silently, he jealously slinks away, the only one who shines not at sunrise. No one sees him leave.