no more stars and no more nights
no more oceans and no more skies
can we please cut out with all these poetic nonsense?
someone like you needs no metaphors
because you are already an art in human form

I guessed, an end would arrive
and take us all to separate graves
Not at all brave
from the scratch, we were scarecrows
repelling parakeets and sparrows
till, a stranger gave us wings to fly
high above the graves
Shared,or separate
and ends
Off guard, unforseen
We then bounced back
to the scratch
all too befuddled.
And lived as one, as we'd always been.

Like a path out of the forest hidden beneath the snow, there seems to be some grand idea just below the surface. Dreamlike inspiration quickly fading like footprints in the drift. Our survival depends on our ability to scratch pen to paper and hand to head to make something tangible from thought before it vanishes.
That impassible white, equally mesmerizing and infuriating in its indifference. The page cares not for our words, yet we demand it be filled. We stumble through words and stutter our thoughts, grabbing loose metaphors from the air like snowflakes, only to watch them melt away from our pen.
Yet as many times as we retire in exasperation is as many times that we'll start again. For the drive to create and the need to relate outweighs our torturous view of the craft. Soon enough winter will break and words will sprout forth from the fertile ground of our minds. Bountiful metaphors and analogies will ripen for the picking and the path that has been there all along will be realized. Only then will we know for certain that spring has sprung again.

In the beginning he craved pink,
so, I exposed my body and let him tattoo it with ink.
As our path turned healthy green,
he then crowned me as his only queen.
In that exact moment i knew; i was addicted to him like caffeine.
After that I got myself mislead, in every possible way, because;
If he wanted red,
I could rip my body apart until i bled.

Then we turned blue, 
and there were nothing else to do,
than to cry my crystal tears for and over you.
Everything felt black,
the only thing that could save my was for you to come back.
But then the slightest drop of colour crossed my dark canvas, it was a light shade purple.
Suddenly things didn’t feel so hurtful.
Now I’m smiling sunny yellow, dancing with pastel colours 
and smelling red roses.
In my life I now have a colourful rainbow, that for you probably don’t matter, but for me; It´s the colours of our chapter.

but eventually, all the metaphors fall apart
and come to nothing
like paper dissolving in water
fanciful words dissolving with it
and without romanticized phrases
and rose-tinted writings
there is only unembellished truth