Purple Ashes In The Sky


Purple ashes 

in the sky.

At dusk

they fall 

as my dreams

turn to dust.


They were of silk,

but it was lust.

Unreal was the zeal

where diamonds encrust. 


There's no chance to be cut

or shined amid the rut 

of not fitting like the cut

of a “normal” kind of strut.


My walk's not with a limp,

but it is with a sway.

Most people don't think

my way,

and it's battered me 

today.


I thought I would

know the way,

but I'm still climbing higher.

It is odd, and it is dire.

I was born 

to be stuck this way.


Without typical tools,

without typical rules,

I'm in my own school

of life

and wearing these painful shoes,

somehow paying the dues 

while my heart wears a bruise.


And I wheeze 

from these ashes.

They look purple to me

as they fall from the mauve sky 

where my dreams flew up 

to die

because those dreams

were just 

a lie.


Some people get by

and some people try,

but they're trapped under the rhythm.

It's a dice, and it's a schism 

It's a privilege to be with 'em,

and they took my dreams to prison,

but the pyramid’s a prism.


And my light makes a rainbow,

through it, risen

in the vibrant purple sky,

over that rainbow,

old dreams die,

and my tears will then go dry

as the ashes

fly.


2022


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supporting the book via purchase or donating to my Go Fund Me.

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