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I've never felt the touch of snow,
Yet I write poems describing its cold.
Am I a fraud?
Who knows, but does it matter?
I'm still existing anyway.
All I can do is hope
For my tears to be reflected on the sky
Giving them a home to cry in,
Until they reach another home,
Welcome and forgiven.
I'll let the water clear my vision
Till I can see through
What was opaque before,
Shrouded behind sequins and colours,
Where invisibility stood for dirty peace.
The tiny particles of dust and lashes
On the inside of my spectacles
Will tint the sunlight into a dappled quandary
As a ringing will gust into my ears,
"Oh, what a spectacle."
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YOU ARE READING
And the Petals Fall | ✔
Poetry❃ From one of the flowers in my infinite garden, I present to you a caricature of its petals. ❃
