ARE WE DEAD OR ALIVE

Beneath the velvet shroud of night, where shadows weep, I weave a melody of sorrow, secrets I must keep. No malice meant, no cruel design, just longing's sting, To paint your smile on moonlit clouds, a song my heart would sing. In every sigh, a nocturne's grace, a cosmic ballet spun, Where pain and beauty waltz as one, by whispers of the sun. My canvas bleeds with indigo, a symphony's command, To chase away the shadows there, and hold your laughing hand. Oh, let the lyre of dawn ignite, on strings of memory, A dance of souls, where past and present weave tapestry. In echoes born of wind and tide, where moonbeams softly gleam, I yearn to see you pirouette, a radiant, joyful dream. No merchant's bargain binds this art, no currency of fame, Just whispers on the starlight's breath, a whispered lover's name. Across the cosmic canvas vast, where galaxies convene, My brush seeks only your delight, your laughter bathed in sheen. So let the purple rain descend, a curtain for our stage, Where every drop, a crystal kiss, turns grief to gilded page. For in this symphony of woe, where hope's last ember glows, My heart finds solace, finding you, where laughter overflows. :: 01.15.2024 ::