~ hermiosa_reina

Shaky heart levitating high, 

 Upon the stairs of sand soft and benign. 

 Trying to touch the moon cold and far, 

 The glitzy patina of warmth, shading it's mar. 

 Heart's desiderata is to bask the warmth, 

 But it's cursed self seeking the frost; 

Of the vile forsakes - 

Scathing like the sweet, sharp diamond. 

 As fragile as the stairs over which the heart lays, 

Are the feelings so tender like dole grey. 

 The mellow hue of the heart, 

 Patches with every rain; 

Of the acrid vex of - 

Spurn, throes and pain. 

 The sheening snubbing moon 

Glares at the heart, 

 Deserting it to sway alone 

On the stairs of sand. 

 Oh cold moon! 

 Spare a glance 

Your sweet pearl glitz, 

 Your warm-cool ray, 

 Repudiated my heart fray. 

Why! 

 Not rendering it's grit, 

 The heart dances in a rhythm 

That tunes with the monotones 

Of the sweet-bitter serenade. 

 That notes of which, I play to the moon. 

 But the pastel amber pearl 

Lies so high, 

 My sweet notes are rendered fray 

Perishing from the acerbity of a lie. 

 A lie that stands before hope, 

While glaring at the sheeny void mirror. 

 The heart is still elevating high, 

 In the false quest of touching the moon's benigh. 

 Nescient to the acrimony of impending parched land, 

 That resembles forsakes and spurn. 

 Heart stands on burning false hope, 

 Like a dolt on feeble stairs of sand.