The Balancing Act

 some fragrant flowers are pressed in the pages of my scrapbook once in a while I look at it with my inner eyes not having the courage to touch it with my hands whilst the dust soils my heart those mesmerizing days had left a trail of stardust for few moments it lit  my pathways with rose gold the flutter of butterflies inside me flew around my sweet smelling straight dark hair only to fly out and never come back these dreams that seems unreal that may not have been mine either rainbow orbs danced in front of me without the promise to belong  just to look, feel and yearn now as the clock turns and tires a dark cave with a blue river outside snowclad mountains and rolling pastures and a sprawling view of loneliness blinded by a  sheet of misty rain stitches the edges of my lingering pain the numbness spreads everywhere even to the fingertips, slowly smiling at sleep the ever eluding enigma come dance with me one last time sit with me and let us pretend the clock never...

Tip toing back to life, amidst  clouds ,birdsongs and trees. Pushing  to stand tall  on the pile of strive, drowning in  rivers that no one sees. walking on lonely pathways strewn with salt. Wounds cut deep with sharp knife, with jabs of pain that do not  halt.  The silent slivers of chaotic yore  tremble  at the pulsating core. pitter patter of shimmering shy rain and peeping pale moon soothes the pain, guiding  to glance at the sparkles of gold, to embrace  high heat and the  biting cold.  while pages of life  keep fluttering away,  fumble  or fly but catch up along the way.