#prose.from.a.rose.: - TWENTY-TWO
Like a star that was born a few eons late.
Peacock feathered and silk-skinned.
Cotten buds in the ears like blooming snow.
Hair as thick as a maiden's when she lets it down to flow.
Water as thin as the mist from the faint dream of a child.
Skin as new as a baby's first breath.
Petals more like the soft of a dandelion.
Like an expanding lake in the shape of a sapphire with only one streak of gold.
Hung up on its walls are grand paintings of the moon.
But all the moon ever was was an ivory-skinned eye in the sky.
The insides of a coconut waiting to be eaten whole by a gluttonous king too deep in his prosperity and opulence to see the green, watering eyes of the children who stare at his chunky hands.
Pinked are his pinkies and flushed is his face.
But the moon. It stays up with my mind. It hears my every anxiety. It knows I can't bare to see my future.
So it watches from the darkened heavens as I smash the violet crystal ball. And it does not grow arms to stop me. Nor legs to stomp me out.
Oh moon, big and whole.
Fill this hole in my heart that worries for my future.
I'm scared that my dream won't live as long as I. Its colours are fading and my hope is about as large as a glass shard on the palace grounds.
The wind blows my feathers,
and it dries my wet.
Yet I still feel, in my throat grows a lump, like a sticky apple dipped in golden glues guised as honey for the foolish.
What do I do?
I have killed the child, I have awoken the owl and it haunts me like a horrid scent of cheap perfume.
How do I hide my breaking face, with gloved hands of leather laced?
Oh this world has hurt my heart which is not even a heart it's a puffed tinsel that has been stunned by the lightning that dares to break the sky; splitting our worlds into pieces for us to collect like mad megalomaniacs obsessed with power.
Oh moon, make me lunar, free me of this pain. Every time I open my eyes during twilight.
And every time I realise myself to be the same.
Cold, alone, hurt and broken at your feet like an abused slave.
Waiting for my chains of copper to melt into gold that I could solidify to sell.
But not to worry. My rivers will crystallise and I shall crack their bodies like breaking ice in January. And if my tinsel heart is still flowing like a gushing pond I'll freeze it with your cold temperament.
God help me. I can't hide it any longer. My eyes betray me, and you curse me with melancholia but bless me with joy.
Show me through time, that I'll have the gem I am seeking to find. Do not let me fall into the same design my ancestors did.
I seek not to be a link in a chain, or a bead in a bracelet, or a flower in a garland.
Just a swan embodying light, but whose innocent eyes have seen all the shades of black the devil wears to funerals.
I want all the light and I want all the dark.
YOU ARE READING
Prose from a Rose
PoesiaMy first collection of prose. Though I have written prose before, I have finally decided to publish some pieces of my prose here on wattpad. I usually write poetry and already have three poetry books here on Wattpad. The first being 'Poetry by Eclip...
