A Pyre of Golden Woods
Reflection of my old house in the rearview mirror
Revived a postage of memorabilia so queer
Yet so familiar
Albeit it defibrillated my dead heartbeats
It left a golden scar on my skin
Bleeding glitter,
I walked past my sins
Pedaling the cycle of time further back
To when I had sunk in the last teardrop of my mother,
She, a broken-winged phoenix,
desolated for death,
And fallen through the cracks of broken vows of forever
into a cerulean pool of ink spilled
from her love letters
Smashed her temple on the whitewashed wall,
her blonde hair wrapped around his finger
She laid streaming blood out of her inflictions
and screams of horror
The ears of the wall captured it all
translated back to me in the other room
where my heart had sunk deep in my human cocoon
The players kept on with their play
And I, the audience,
The spectator of my breaking family
Sat back with empathy and unannounced rage.
Decades later, when I landed up in this dirty sketch,
Decided to alter the storyline and
Fled the burning stage,
Writing its elegy with an upbeat music
Decorating the pyre of this relationship
With gems and canopy
Winds of desolation cut through my fears
Like a phoenix spreading its golden wings for flight
across the azure sky,
I escaped the eternal prison of my mind.