If I could count
The delicate lines
Offshoots and roots
Hidden in my palms;
Marking the map
Of my destiny
I may comprehend,
The forks and breaks
That twist of my fate
Conspiring to create
Hard wins and fails
In this medley of life
On a rollercoaster ride
When an exhausted orb self-immolates
Tumbles towards a pale blue dot
Tired lovers, puppets of destiny
Make a wish upon the falling spark
In dying moments, may the constellations
Burn out their hapless horoscopes,
And rewrite fates of the star-crossed
A thousand miles away
Stars in a distant array
Speak to me of destinies
That lend to life it’s mystery
In luminous, fiery novas
In sparkly, fallen crystals
In comets singed to ashes
The fate lines in our palms
Etched in celestial splashes
She wears her scars
Like gleaming tattooes
Tangled hues of red
Painted on her skin
Bruises that never bled
Lonely silver trinkets
Mimic sheeny sparkles
Of pensive eyes, as they
Cling to starry destinies,
Fate written in the winds,
Hope acquired over eons
Of pain that will dissolve
With the first splash of rain
When the seasons change
She wears her scars
Like gleaming tattooes
Tangled hues of red
Painted on her skin
Bruises that never bled
Lonely silver trinkets
Mimic sheeny sparkles
Of pensive eyes, as they
Cling to starry destinies,
Fate written in the winds,
Hope acquired over eons
Of pain that will dissolve
With the first splash of rain
When the seasons change
Regrets, conflicts, defects
From the mirror life reflects
Images of what was
Shadows of what wasn’t
Reminder of what can be
Fate plays on fleeting reels
Surreal spectres, unreal dreams
Blue Pen Strokes 