When The Tulip Lost Its Petals

Amidst the flush of delicate pink hue
a little wren spoke in wistful tones
the sky was made of translucent luster
and the moon was but a crystal dream.
Somewhere in Arizona, an evening draws
to a graceful close over deep red earth.
Sometimes there are not any metaphors
there is only the truth; A silver sickle
glinting through the rhythms of heart.
An artist is forbidden from speaking
of their own internal anguish, unfair!