The Stained Constellations

It isn’t the apprehension that blinds me,

Or the rejection that clogs my wellbeing.

It is the sense of inadequacy that takes the charm,

From the guiltless moons,

And the stained constellations that flicker inconsequently.

Nor does the edge petrify me to falter,

To step forward and but forget the burdens hosing us down.

It isn’t a verdant landscape I look out to,

For all I envision is the gradual mortality that glistens up in flames.

It conforms and disassociates itself from the hand-held roots,

To let the blooming season pass once and for all,

For spring assassinates the solitude of repentance,

To leave one dormant of the appetizing dishevelment,

A mess in completion with vain,

But a good riddance nature declares,

For all hostility initiates in the warmth of belonging.




Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Google photo

You are commenting using your Google account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s