To Heartbroken Poets

They will marvel at your fingertips

Which drum gold onto paper like auroras on a dead sky.

You will become the nomenclature of their heartbreak

And the lexicon of their frauds,

The vernacular with which they will purchase peace,

The passwords to their sleep.

You will smile to see your pain

Wear gorgeous dresses and kiss strangers

In places, they learnt to hide with time.

There will be moonlight on broken concrete

But their eyes will not chase meteors

Their eyes will not be hope soaked in shadows

Because they were busy touching the fissures in your soul

Where your heart became full and fell from its nine-fold height

But forgot to shatter

Forgot to evaporate into memories.

It sang on abandoned harmonicas in alleys you thought collapsed

And if not for the haunting of a breaking, not-broken, heart

You couldn't have stolen the silver in its dirges

Couldn't burn it into stars that dot this sky

Even as gold explodes into the black waters

And stops the world into looking upward.