☾⋆⁺₊✦ 🔮 ✧ ☽⟡○⟡☾ ✦ ✦ ⟆️⟅ ✦ ✦ ✴︎🌙✴︎

I’ve grown tired of kings & queens with crowns of smoke,

Who speak in mirrors, every word a cloak.

Their truths are hollow drums in halls of glass,

Echoing praises with no soul.

I’ve danced with peacocks drunk on their own shine,

Each feather loud, but none of it divine.

Their eyes—black wells that never saw a sky,

Too lost in self to ever wonder why.

The gardens where their vanity now grows

Choke every root that honest silence knows.

No bloom of grace, no scent of sacred thought—

Just thorns of pride that empathy forgot.

I crave the hush where quiet hearts reside,

Where depth walks humbly, far from swollen pride.

Let me unlearn their noise, unsee their game,

And light my fire with a gentler flame.

☾⋆⁺₊✦ 🔮 ✧ ☽⟡○⟡☾ ✦ ✦ ⟆️⟅ ✦ ✦ ✴︎🌙✴︎

Adios