There are seventy-five thousand ways
through a haze masked as a maze
a shiver is sent through a spine
out of a thousand branched lines
a twinkle in my mind
a refinement in disguise
like silk pouring down the mental edge
dressed in a gown on a burning ledge
A droplet of orange rain was ticklishly trickled
onto an anxious scar, feeling too afraid
falling back to a cushion of air, the lion's hair
a frown was traced onto the whirlwind of sand
a muddy face, disgraced, embraced the sentences
formed by the poor man's dream, fondled by society
a fond bond by a rigorous animal by the drying pond
a friendship torn asunder, a love ripped vigorously
A dead man's rhythm, coronated by a ruby of pain
and twenty-two lies were formulated by the wise
a sweet dusk looms ahead of the chameleon's shadows
and eighty rows of rainbows resonated through the meadows
for a little rat's certainty, to ascertain the right path
a melody brimming with questions, holding life hostage
at a miserable gunpoint, an out-of-tune chorus
masquerading as a catharsis of a bee's stinging heart
Flowers, flowers, flowers
the dreams are too beautiful, tears are overflowing!
In these realms of nonrealism, there's a symbol of peace
a garden rooted in original sin, a sacrificial win
a mesmerizing pin pierced through the tranquilized heart
elucidating a bubble of make-believe, or to believe in a maker
a reckoning of thirty possibilities, a corrected, misguided future
or a planet with overgrown neuroreceptors
And I, who sit at my designated desk
fated with staring at a strange stream of number and letters
on a cracked computer screen
I could do nothing but sigh
A glowing ambition wreaked havoc upon true tranquility
a rebirthed man, reincarnated as a moth under a lamp
a tiny machine, a principle of unreliability among man
I could do nothing but sigh
imbecilic memories of a resurrected embryo
a light machine, a light machine, a light machine
how could a rift emanate from a false origin
I sigh
This will be a journey of self-discovery
to find my true calling
and a place I belong
a place where I can be we
an unfitting piece of this half-assembled puzzle
a farce describing the secret code of paths
a weary traveler rains upon man, a heart
a revelation, a revelation, a revelation!
YOU ARE READING
Nebula at Sea
PoetryThe journey of a man venturing into a world of insecurities, apathy, and strangeness. A story of growing up. A rhythm of escaping into the fantasy of the self. This is a collection of poetic stories through sufferings, hardships, and recovery. A rev...
