Though I'm sleeping I still hear some whispers,
maybe while I'm dreaming but it seems to linger.
Rhythms of my heart beating through the cold days of winter,
a warm feeling coursing through to the tips of my fingers.
If my life was a canvas, it would only be painted in black,
as I have always been engulfed in naught but darkness.
And that represents both my future and my past,
including my present even with specks of light regardless.
I don't know If I'd rather live my life asleep or dream while awake,
thoughts flood my mind while my heart burns in it's flames.
Emotions stirring, ignited instantly and behold a fire ablaze,
inextinguishable even with the downpour of calming rains.
The stars above sing of tales amongst constellations,
and they dance in congregation during the moon's coronation.
For the sun to rise in it's kingly might is an obligation,
and beheld by all in awe for it's heavenly coloration.
The heart's sermons are the poems that we recite,
the sonnets we sing, the rhythms that we revive.
Only such miraculous words can heal even what death may despise,
and embrace the soul in an aura from which even angels are deprived.
Reality transcends us upon the chorus of sanctity,
It defies dimensions even in the most beautiful fantasies.
There was never one who could continue understanding me,
hence I advanced alone in life through the celestial galaxies.
A collection of moments recorded in mind are memories,
living out the stories written for us is labelled as destiny.
Some may leave but shadows and some bestow legacies,
and I hope with my words, the world may remember me.