Maybe my heart is dying, and I'm
Nitpicking at the
Ornate glass shards falling from my chest, that
Pierce the ground.
Quietly, my soul is weeping,
Repulsed by the image I
See, reflected in the pool my naive
Tears have formed. Where is my
Utopia? With it's golden gates and silver spires?
Violet catacombs and lapis lazuli tunnels,
Where I can run to hide from the sickly
Xanthic light that stabs my
Youthful aura, and sends it splintering in
Zig-zags? Falling from the heavens,
A dagger, heartless metal,
Burning with the jealousy of the stars to see me
Cocooned snuggly in my Utopia.
Dead. All of it is dead.
Everything left in the dagger's
Furious flaming path is dead.
Gone is the life that pulsed, white
Hot and vibrant,
Inspired and imagined by me. Where
Jasmine floated gracefully in the air before has been
Killed by ash, and soot, and rage. Hear my
Lamentation, and wail with me.