LIKE BUCKETS

 LIKE BUCKETS

Empty the skies—rip them open,

hurl down the moon in molten silver,

shatter the stars into a glittering rain.

I'll leap into the dark, palms burning,

catch every falling ember I've ever wished on—

their tails of white fire searing my skin,

whispering come back, come back

as I cradle their dying light against my chest.You are already the 

air I crave:

I drag you in fierce and deep,

oxygen igniting like wildfire in my lungs,

rushing hot through crimson corridors,

flooding every ventricle until my heart swells,

drum-tight, no cracks, no empty chambers—

only brimming fullness, a velvet pressure

that drowns out the world's noise

and leaves me trembling at capacity.In these ink-black days, I 

strain to become knight—

not in polished steel, but in quiet pivots,

in the slow, deliberate pacing of breath

through chaos unfolding like storm clouds.

I navigate the jagged present

with hands outstretched, learning the map

of shadows by feel alone.Of all the planet's cruel blades—

wars that scream metal and smoke,

drugs that hollow eyes to glass,

hate that coils like barbed wire,

zones where hurt festers and blooms red—

I ache for the impossible power:

to reach back through time,

erase the deepest lacerations carved above the heart,

those raw, weeping furrows

still slick with the memory of pain.Yet the pulse endures—

thudding wild and stubborn beneath bruised skin,

a molten core of vitality,

endless possibility crackling like lightning

in the cage of ribs.

It drums louder than any darkness,

a living vow:

you are the breath that steadies it,

the moon I chase through every shattered sky.

To bring the vividness to life visually, here are some evocative 

images that echo the poem's cosmic longing, intimate breath, 

knightly resolve, and resilient heart.