What creeps in these corridors <br />Within these purple solemn hours? <br />I sadly awaken to lilacs with no heads, <br />And, with all the life I have given you <br />I am left with the remnants of thorn and green... <br />I do not oppose to such colors; <br />I only just long for the deepest hues. <br /> <br />For you see? <br />The fickle of light has betrayed me, <br />It adores the the stolen flower of your scent <br />And, nighttime shadow finds you more abstract; <br />My poem in motion, my love, my painting, <br />You in your masses, <br />I ask, can you see to it that my brush is never broken? <br />That I am the only one who can trace your purfumed lines? <br /> <br />I do hunger your colors, <br />That of death, that of life, <br />The drought, the blue, gray, purple, wood and steel <br />You are the most magnificent in plain sight... <br />My astrocyte; my malignant fleshly star, <br />Metaphorically speaking you are my lovely contradiction. <br /> <br />So it is you that creeps within these corridors <br />Within these solemn purple hours; <br />My painting, my love... <br />How you color my sad sky with rich hues <br />My astrocyte, my malignant mass of lilacs... <br />That of my death that of my life.<br /><br />Mimi Mata<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/malignant-mass-of-lilacs-by-mimi-mata-meyer/
