Salutations

Where the world bears its brittle and brisk arrays

like a drying and scorching wind

until the heart feels so stiff and unable to beat,

just feeling left among the stones and driftwood lives

as it becomes a cold and silent wasteland

without any embers to heat the mind

nothing to know, but gray morns in solitude.

 

But inside dwells the dreamer of lights and clouds,

who will try to reach out and greet reality,

refuse to die a withered soul in rigor mortis hope,

truly continuing to express the passion and love inside

so it doesn’t get forgotten on the barren beaches

often strolled in search for sand castle miracles

 

One outstretched cry to face the sky,

one earnest plea to declare your identity

because climbing into a grave,

while still alive

is never the desire in any spirit of liberty,

which will still defy the stagnant landscape

and grope against the tides and time

ever clutching at the day

to let the life that has been infertile by fate

find a spring to bloom again.