Aurora Flowers
Hidden away in my dull room,
Where my dreams aren’t a crime,
Weaving away on this soul loom,
A tapestry of another time.
With vibrant and endless heavens,
Nothing like life I know,
Junes where the hills do not have eyes,
And winters of bright snow.
This new world was too calm for me,
Without violence and pain,
Finally this life, lament-free,
The ugly past now slain.
Doors unbroken and plaster fresh,
No holes injure this home,
Still maimed in the this mortal flesh,
At night old tears still roam.
Shouting and anger in my veins,
It does not rule this land,
But the primal fever explains,
Why I fight on demand.
Maybe brutality is vital,
For me to persevere,
Because stopping this wicked recital,
Would make life insincere.
What would my life be without fights,
No appetite sated,
Without these dark and barbaric rites,
This cloth is getting faded.
Once luminous with new bright thread,
The luscious world I wove,
No more where I hid from dread,
Till I weave a more secure grove.