I
such a tragedy, a poet laments
killing their words before
the cultures receiving them resents
their poems that barely make sense
II
I want to talk
real words
of what I think
let me borrow
the ones I don't
I beg for sanity
but the world
is silent
please
III
she held
on to the petunias
purple fingers– firewood
they are burning her alive
she ran
hunted by the silence
scarlet heart– bleeding
a thornless lily dares to survive
IV
the day mountains walked
trees danced
and rivers wore
the clouds as crown
finding this world
gone insane
we learned to love
amidst fire and rain
V
I steal words
no, not from a dictionary
but from you,
when you've tainted them
with emotions of all kinds
the merry words or
the melancholic ones,
so sublime
or words fueled with fire
maybe marinated in fright
I steal words
string them together
a poem I call mine
VI
a life of imagined love,
of warmth craved
by tender heart in sunshine
will it measure?
I fear-- the rose is only
beautiful in my mind
VII
you are my muse,
you say
I wish I was anything but
VIII
The heart
Bruised
Yearning
To be loved
Is it too much to ask?
IX
Oi, finite beings!
How does it feel
To bleed in dreams
Of colour and love
Yet unperceived
And tear the veil
Of sanity
Through flimsy lies
Of what is real
And ramble through
The words absurd
Yet you find
Meaningful stretch
A minuscule part
Of your life
Played to
Infinity
X
How many tragedies can I write,
Mutate the sufferings, serve it dressed up
In flowery words before they turn into parodies
Before the world catches on with disgust
That I assay to sell my pain