penitence

spilt ink cries onto
scribbled apologies
and crumpled teardrops
that decorate the floor.

the ink-stained clouds
and moonless sky
swallow all the names of hope
that tear the world apart.

T. E. Pyrus

Advertisements

melting masks

We polish our masks
with the broken pieces
of our starry skies.
When it rains, the paint
runs down their cheeks
like tears, as if masks could feel,
and souls could fall like melting clouds.
When they’re broken, lost,
colours washed into white afternoons,
we scour the sunsets for our names;
by twilight we drown
in oceans of our boundless hope,
breathing like springtime,
bleeding like salt, silver
like your moonlit-mask;
and you, never knowing
how your lonely eyes
hold all the storms that light the skies…

T. E. Pyrus