REINA

abstruse as a jigsaw,

void vacaying in psyche, 

thy clamor a dole of art. 

the jaunt thee wouldn't seize,

a lacerated leaf from a gazette, 

yearning for the hug of the dead rose, 

the raw ones don't last forever. 

ooze thy pang through poetry, Reina!

but the dead-eye hampers.

aurelius, strived to fit in,

maybe, he was meant for the citylights 

yonder the stardust in thy soul. 

thy guess is as good as mine, 

he was the era of golden aura, 

howbeit, thee lay under the murky sky. 

split, the twilight resided. 

a cosmic creation of dampened galaxies, 

moon-bathing at the crescent,

reina, isn't it surreal to be a sonnet,

without an end?