Apollo
there are days
when he looks like the
embodiment of the
sun,
when his eyes are like a
polished glass of
trapped sunlight
under the tuscan sun;
a pellucid golden
paradise where warmth
is in its abundance.
sometimes, he is
the manifestation
of chaos
a chasm of
danger and unrest between
love and safety;
a flash beat of chance-medley.
he is storms made flesh
a sudden ripple on
the placid sea
a hairline crack on perfect
glass pane
a maelstrom of emotions
i failed to name
—a permanent home.
YOU ARE READING
Under The Late October Skies
PoetryI am looking for the kind of love that is worthy of me and my words. ☽☀☾ -You will lose yourself in nirvana on this very surface and then- i will teach you how to navigate the stars knowing that even if you lose me, you will find your way back. ...
