That time at the lake,
As the mist looked on expectedly,
When I cried sad crystals,
And they flew skyward,
Joining hands with constellations,
It was then that I knew,
As my eyes still spilled celestial ink,
That the night sky was built on hurt lovers,
Cosmic beauty derived from pain,
The night was an anthology of romantic tragedies,
A sky of stories,
A landscape painting of bloodily cut diamonds,
Bled on to the firmament by the brush of our tears.

Comments
  1. Well penned. Wonderful imagery of sky and tears. A marvelously fresh perspective, Really well done.

  2. Cassa Bassa says:

    How could the crystalline sky be so sad?!?

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