Poetry and Prose Collection XXIII
*all writing pieces originally from Instagram @mi.haloes*
“her eyes/do say so”
As the pool of tears puddle beneath her eyes,
Tell her you’ve counted each one to replace with the memories of a distant future.
As the flares in her eyes ignite,
Tell her you’ve seen them every time the phoenix shines within your deep slumbers.
As the curiosity lingers in her eyes,
Tell her you’ve mapped each desire on parchment and kept it to travel a thousand seas and beyond.
If even a thought flickers and shatters upon the hardtop as she comes near,
Do say so.
Earnest. Polite. Gentle. Something ever so ethereal.
As the essence of pure love becomes embodied within the pupils of your own eyes,
Do say so.
You’ve got a million reasons to give,
to get and prosper,
to become a pair of doves that live and a pure love that is only now set to foster.
(2023, Oct 12)
“foretold prophecies”
The castles of the foretold glisten amongst the sunlight in the distance,
a prophecy that has yet to be fulfilled.
As the ultraviolet and nitrogen-stricken air cascades and bows to nightfall,
the comets reign over their conquered lands above.
A delicate placidity,
a sweet dreamscape.
A new horizon; an inescapable harmony.
Reminiscent of a fallen dance that now lies shattered with the collapse of a final falsetto sung by a dying star,
far beyond the reach of the naked eye and Saturn.
As the castles of the foretold glisten under the Aurora Borealis and all its ancestors,
the prophecy now stands splintered.
Unachievably buried with the burning of a thousand suns and essences.
(2023, Oct 14)
“idealistic love”
Is this love too idealistic?
Like a scandal wrapped with wine leaves,
does it only grow when told not to?
A stubborn situation.
Under some unnerving,
unending,
an unexpected set of coincidences, by some random conditions, something has led us to this garden of green and honey, where we stand on the same footpath.
With the scentful blessings of the roses, I rinse our teacups with rainwater that would not wash away our secrets,
but rather,
lather them with the blessing of a goddess’s tears.
A divinity,
dauntless,
doting set of sequences — one that will flourish the beloveds of the garden.
It seems humorously fictional. Amusing, is it not?
I suppose that it finally answers the question:
this love is indeed too idealistic.
(2023, Nov 1)
“little by little”
Little by little,
I let it go.
With each breath and recollection of my foolishness, I let you go.
As I turn to the skies tonight, I no longer see a fantasy dance with the blazing constellation of Orion across my periphery.
With the made-up imagery that overtook my mind for nights, I no longer feel restless.
Those days I felt rejected, those days I felt that it was not meant to be.
Those days where you walked past the window and we never looked to catch each other’s eyes.
One foot in front of the other, and both eyes glazing the night lights with a new beginning, a kind beginning — one for myself.
I welcome this new feeling, a kind feeling — one for myself.
Little by little,
I truly have let it go.
Goodbye, my friend, I suppose we’ve done our best.
Goodbye, my friend, and for sure never again.
(2023, Nov 7)
