It doesn’t matter the darkness in the clouds

Birds will always fly

Poetica

Ad0ra Williams

PROLOGUE

 

Someone is being the spectator of me 

Having a conversation with myself

 

And it’s probably the darkest side of me

 

What would I do if I had the gift

Of levitating above the clouds?

Would I dare to ask why?

 

What if the fruit had been an orange or a pomegranate?

Would they have the shape of humanness within?

 

After observing the unending sleepiness of the welkin in between

The woes of the wicked and the awe of the gracious

I’ve become a trouper, bonding epiphanies to lucid dreams

 

Not every vox can convey cognisance 

Not every view can be transcribed into code 

 

I’m in mediate elucidation in my soliloquy

A longueur 

 

The orbs through which I see the vortex 

Are the wings of a Phoenix 

Bringing wisdom from the future 

Right into the past 

 

I

 

I’ve always been obsessed with complicated icons 

Iconic roses I grow in the backyard of my marbles

 

My marbles… I shatter them into a million pieces every day

Then I put them back together always in a different shape 

While I yearn for a Pax Vespertini’s delight

Anticipating, craving 

 

And when it finally arrives 

I pass them by 

 

I proceed to another Parnassian stargaze

 

No time for worldly caprices 

Unless it becomes celestial art in the canvas of a love night

 

Then I would triangulate the circle 

Kinaesthetically

 

I’d visit the realms of fire for more than a sojourn

Meridian lines through the hours, give them a knot 

Future and past’s coexistence in my waters

 

An act of darkness would become ecloga material perchance

As my sensorial decays evanesce into the distance

 

But that night’s blueprint on the ribbon 

The aurora blurred 

 

And the prime artist forgot

II

 

I live for a dawn that was not

I reach on the ground imagery from above 

All beyond my range to never give too much light to the blue

The glaze of my mirror is sustained by the zephyr brume of a dusk

Lustrous Nocturne

 

Music point to the line of a sphere 

Sphere on the seeds, flowers bloom to words

Outré earthly gnomes halfway to the asteroid belt

A failed spaceship decayed to a chemtrail

Over Venus’ veil

 

Dripping concepts from a forgotten scope of time

From stainless silver dust in the outer space

From a fuzzy state of mind

From a woman that could never for too long 

Just say love of mine

 

Pondering on illumination

A ceaseless rummage for the secret on the last arcane 

Wrinkling forehead strives to reach the final marvel 

To understand all the tropes at the tropicos

 

I could just imitate the dream

I would love to love collisions for an absolute magnitude

I wish I had company

Yet, I’m just a lonely violet under an austere moonlight stream

My only escape is imitating the dreamer

 

But illumination is not a flair

It’s routine

 

 

III

If I could tryst with the elliptical in the golden hour

Perhaps I would find my swain from the stars

But I’m just a mundane poet 

 

I echo existence with words

Like my iconic roses

 

God to gravity

Gravity to galaxy 

Galaxy to orb

Orb to atmosphere 

Atmosphere to air 

Air to lungs

Lungs to heart

Heart to mind

Mind to mouth

Mouth to code

Code to art

Art to artist

Artist to dream 

 

The earth is the page where the water will create 

Life is the canvas where the artist will compose

The woman is the abode where life will dwell

A satellite to be lightened up

 

She will refine the light

She will be pleasant to the eyes 

Like a renaissance masterpiece

Whose artist didn’t spare the finesse

 

She’ll be tender in blaze 

A perfect fit to kindle the night

Adamant in a velvety éclat

The halo of a white gold star

Drawn with astonishing knowhow 

 

A circle that can’t be squared

IV

Nine times nine stanzas muses circles in the high

You can make one mistake, but never make it twice 

The path of the middle is always the best choice

 

Two hypothetical denouements 

One is the hit, the other is the flop

Still, I found a third

 

Nine trips to Venus through a helicoid

 

The ace of hearts will always be the return 

Said Ophelia, on the other side of the blue

Through the sound waves that are the outliers 

For verboten words

 

Six trips to Saturn through the laurels

 

My thoughts get disheartened as the days get longer

I catch myself trying to go yonder time

And do something 

 

In a frame of time where the frame of mind

Is doing nothing

 

To lift existence from a never-ending torpor

To add to the aeon at least the narrowest line

To be reality in a dazed future

 

What if the wolves had gotten there first?

Would they have succeeded in finishing the picture?

Probably not much better 

As we’re all just a pursuit 

We’ve done just fine

 

After nine

It goes back to nothingness 

Thus, everythingness

 

The days of wine and roses

Poetry over the proses

 

One trip to Uranus 

On cloud nine

 

 

V

I wish I could fall in love with a simple man

Not a chronicler of self-realisations

Someone at the opposite end

 

So he balances my amarantine induced coruscations

So he lulls my contemplative ultramarine ruminations

Above the horizon outlier

 

Under the starlit sky

But not for the concept

Not to compose the scene

Not to counterfeit the Parnassus

Just for fluky delight

 

But I’m wandering the wonder of another ~

I’m in a visionary path in the space of the unknown

Fingering the Lyra while the ode trills the Venus in

me

 

While the collective - whether I play it safe -

Allows me to exist

 

 

VI

 

There is something beyond me 

A beauty over all the sublunary shapes

A magic that’s never gotten lost in myths

Where I prompt myself to never leave

 

I live for something higher 

Such as the rare days when the sun lingers before it sets

Just seconds enough to ape the mother of muses

In me with the tenacity of the queen of the night

That raised earlier in the summer solstice

I amuse, delusional

Tales in verse

 

I live for something greater

The higher we go past the stratosphere 

The darker grows the blue of the matter

But the darker the blue of the matter grows

The lighter is the clarity in our dual galaxies 

To one it returns

 

(The ninth circle will clear to blue 

Liquefying light)

 

I live for the pristine wonder

A chamber of echoing pipe dreams 

Through the whims of perspective

 

Salamander on the candle flavoured star anise

I lighted in hopes it could light 

The Poetica in me 

 

And indeed it did

 

EPILOGUE

 

Constellate my Milky Way

Cinnamon the taste of my nights

Until it becomes sweet

Compose the landscape with me

Let us undo the genesis on the apple tree

And do it over, doppelgangerly

With a missing piece in the hologram

Which will allow the light to go on 

Half-mundane half-divine

 

A metaphor ellipse beneath the blue hour

Command my cruise to a dark matter supernova 

Follow me, jazz up my abstractions on love 

Orbit my vice recklessly

 

In fact, I’m just talking a blue streak

Pardon my French

My Greek is just imagery

 

But in the latitude of a violaceous state of mind 

Lure me and I’ll become a laureate Hellenistic rhyme