The Lizard

My face is withered like fragile roses in fall,

Where nectar once lived, now only sorrow flows.

A painting that lost its colors, a son who lost his mother,

A soul errant in thought, and no one could ever find her.

A bird that built to many nests,but yet nowhere could get it fit,

Sometimes the place was wrong, sometimes the problem was it

A ship that lost its compass, drifting through the night,

A flame that longs for warmth, yet trembles at the light.

A soldier who lost his war and asked himself, “For whom I fought?”

This war was never mine, and I was left without my sword.

I've always seen myself as the sun — bright, yet burning alone.

They praise its light in winter, but in summer they throw stones.

Why am I drawn to distant moons, a lunatic wrapped in quiet gloom?

I give them all the light they seek — yet still they leave too soon.

The fracture in my lost soul keeps stretching like a wound.

Everyone I've met hid a blade beneath its bloom.

Why do the wicked linger long, while gentler souls are doomed?

I stitch my wounds with threads of forgetting that unravel far too soon.

My shoulders start to crumble under grief I can’t dissect,

A milion shapes of sorrow — a lizard lives in my soul's cleft.

This lizard that can't be seen, but it keeps wolffin' my soul

Every night beneath the moon — it tightens its control.