They say these words are meant to be a curse,
Like the red strings of fate severed inside my pulse;
A whisper that faded in the air
Well, fate has never been fair

However, I cannot stop this ink from flowing,
As the emptiness from within is raging--
in response to the heart that never felt the magic;
of learning how a touch can twist the law of darkness and logic

Every day is a new chaos of silence and patience,
As the threads of fate extends until it exudes a strange luminescence--
of tears, a broken hope, unsaid wishes, and a poem that does not makes sense

But my lips will still caresss these words
Even if our thread is hindered by the world,
And let the winds carry my faint whisper without pretense,
To let you know the news that I am thankful by your mere existence

Let me continue to spill my ink for you,
Dancing in its unspoken blackened hue
Even if they say these words are meant to be a curse,
I will just endure the red strings of fate being severed inside my pulse

-T. S. Peril






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