Silentcrystals

She counted the bells at the unopened door grounded in the difference between empathy as enigma and beating hearts standing with her; are we all mere lonely butterflies without hope?

I do not know what the wind carries now that its rhetoric of resonance is unable to escape dancing maple leaves quaking with chrysanthemums’ shattered reflections, is it insecurity’s horror becoming reality?

The fields are black in this moment but not like a glistening smear of blackberries’ stains, tricky clouds move forward forming soulless paper hearts ruled by our chaos, where are the green fields of defiance?

They hit the ground running, out of time, no longer only cries in the storm or yesterday’s varieties of silent inks filled with open paths, now what was sustaining floating wounds again was resolve within their hearts

I read the lines: “first they came” no exclusion applied to others as the silhouettes of pain’s cruelty blushes passed, but relief was edited by twisted dreams as the quiet arrival came also for us

Together we toweled off the world’s black & white in between the sad swept doorsteps of loss & painted mysterious paths of vibrant color to celebrate this moment caught by time

No implication required no edging understanding his razor sharp words burn me, I stand at the last open curtains of my heart, the once hidden teardrops pour like rain