Shaky heart levitating high,
Upon the stairs of sand soft and benign.
Trying to touch the moon cold and far,
The glitzy patina of warmth, shading it's mar.
Heart's desiderata is to bask the warmth,
But it's cursed self seeking the frost;
Of the vile forsakes -
Scathing like the sweet, sharp diamond.
As fragile as the stairs over which the heart lays,
Are the feelings so tender like dole grey.
The mellow hue of the heart,
Patches with every rain;
Of the acrid vex of -
Spurn, throes and pain.
The sheening snubbing moon
Glares at the heart,
Deserting it to sway alone
On the stairs of sand.
Oh cold moon!
Spare a glance
Your sweet pearl glitz,
Your warm-cool ray,
Repudiated my heart fray.
Why!
Not rendering it's grit,
The heart dances in a rhythm
That tunes with the monotones
Of the sweet-bitter serenade.
That notes of which, I play to the moon.
But the pastel amber pearl
Lies so high,
My sweet notes are rendered fray
Perishing from the acerbity of a lie.
A lie that stands before hope,
While glaring at the sheeny void mirror.
The heart is still elevating high,
In the false quest of touching the moon's benigh.
Nescient to the acrimony of impending parched land,
That resembles forsakes and spurn.
Heart stands on burning false hope,
Like a dolt on feeble stairs of sand.
YOU ARE READING
#➊ 》𝕵𝖆𝖓𝖚𝖆𝖗𝖞 : ℍ𝕪𝕒𝕔𝕚𝕟𝕥𝕙 𝕄𝕒𝕘𝕒𝕫𝕚𝕟𝕖
De TodoWelcome to the first-ever issue of "𝑯𝒚𝒂𝒄𝒊𝒏𝒕𝒉 𝒎𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒛𝒊𝒏𝒆". Here, we'll take you through a variety of things from artworks by our members, to short stories, poems, the current happenings of the world and many more as you enter this Wonde...
