//Filling in the chasmic voids
of your subtle lies,
Drowning in an ocean
of vicious thorns;
unaware of the flowers
that could never bloom.//
An artist, who fills your canvas with shades that brighten up your soul, is the one who lives in grey, for he can't afford them.
And so he paints with his soul, one that he lost ages ago.
Blood dripping from the tattered skin; you blush and awe, at the sky appearing scarlet.
Lilac fields hide gloom, under the illusion of perfection.
The sunflower in the middle of the storm, is filled with a hope that he kept hidden for years, for it was the one that kept him going.
The strokes of blue that you so carelessly ignore, were taken from his calm, in exchange for a can of anxiety.
Maybe if you take a closer look, you'll see secrets deeper than the crescent moon.
//Chaotic and beautiful
to the far away soul,
destroying away the one
that dared to take
a closer look.//
The mother who sang a soft lullaby to her child, is the one who is tired from being choked, all her life.
The soldier at the border, whom you admire so much, is just at the verge of another break down.
The stars that smile at you every night, are just afraid of fading away into the chasmic sky.
The writer who soothes you with tales of fiction, is just a bandaged soul bleeding reality. His words are adorned with beguiling petals, deftly hiding the thorns.
Who is he deceiving? Even his rhymes don't know the answer.
//Lost amidst the agitated waves
of nostalgia and melancholy;
a whirlpool of words remains unsaid,
yet deeply felt.//