Here I put forward a poetry that found its rhyme after letting go some stanzas of it.
The sun and its sol remained so close although the moon left leaving no chores. Staring at lacuna imagining butterflies in a sunflower field, there’s nothing left but just emptiness of truth.
Bruises in heart and stains of pain didnt vanish easy, demanded a pay.
The moon and the fireflies strummed the strings, making a melody healing the pain. Light no longer captivated or emancipated, neither did it share the pain. Colours started fading and the eyes wanted the greys. Spring left no essence but fall did a foreplay, froze the heart, stamped the grief.
Time went by, skin repelled the scars, thread started pulling off after all he had been a puppet. No regrets but realization took a seat, compelled to believe that the lies were real.
Black turned blue and soon to yellow, the mist became muse and smile turned wider.
The void was no longer the demon’s shelter. Through the cracks now entered light, helping the heart bloom and become fine. Now that the breeze hits different and the chime does the cheer, looking back isnt the mere.
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