ember sunburst speaks
what words could never fathom
in nature's hour.
"Take my hand," you say,
but our fingers slip past.
"Hold on," you shout,
but there's nothing left to grasp.
embracing death in a silent scream,
the world rushing past in a whirlwind,
glass and glitter piercing my skin,
light bouncing off bloodstained shards
as the world goes dark.
Have you heard the call of the queen?
Naught but a sigh in the wind
and yet the whole world tremors.
Limbs on a string, dancing as they tug,
smile plastered in a grin so smug.
You sway and sing to a hypnotic tune,
dancing alone in a foresaken room.
Saturn rings and phoenix wings,
a cloak of stardust thread.
I am queen of sand box land,
the king of heart and head.
Work and patience make success,
a chapter finds its end.
I celebrate the victories won,
then journey to the next.
New beginnings from ancient ends,
the point in which the story bends
from tragedy to endless bliss,
that I might say I live for this.
Maskless face and truthful gaze
keep the flames of love ablaze.
Now I know the journey's cost,
so glad am I to've loved and lost.
If you had twenty four hours left to live,
you'd tell everyone you loved and give
them every precious second of time
and consider anything less a crime.
You'd hug your loved ones and give a kiss
and hope that you'll be sorely missed.
The secret escorts you to your grave
because you know there's nothing to save.
You'll close your eyes and say goodbye
and hope to rise up to the sky
with mournful tears and hearts to break
scattered in your heavenly wake.
They'll fight their way through grief's stages
with tear stains littering empty journal pages.
They'll wonder why you never said it before,
why you couldn't just have hugged them more.
And when they triumph over grief,
the tears will dry, or least be brief.
But most of all they'll try to fill the hole
that was once the home of your soul.
And if you could do it all again,
you'd hold them tight and try to mend
the broken parts before you die
and leave each day with spirits high.
So when you look down from above,
you'll leave no doubt that they were loved.
The time has come to enter in
the nobel house of Slytherin
with windows shielding deep lake beds
and emerald hangings overhead.
Today I wore the Sorting Hat
and no longer would I combat
my true place amongst the green
of the cunning serpent scene.
Green eyes blinded by the dawning sun,
blinking wettly as realisation stung.
There is no time for reckless forsakening,
no time for lies in this emerald awakening.
Causes Maria Badillo Supports
Foundation to Decrease WorldSuck