Tag: Poetry

The sky blooms with clouds – round, soft, and purple,  Like cotton candy drifting in a dream. Green trees sway in the summer’s soft wind, Shedding whispers of leaves in their dance. Sunflowers lean against each other, Their touch tender, like two old lovers in the sun. The lake exhales into a steady silver pulse,…

I didn’t dip my toes— I dove… Headfirst,into blackwater cold. Where sound foldsand light forgets your name. I opened my chest like a wound,let salt flood the seams. Even the moon turned awaywhen I slippedunderneath. Down I sank—past jellybone dreams,through shipwrecked wantsand the bones of thingsthat once begged to be held. The pressure kissed me…

Maybe Icarus knew. Before his demise, his inevitable fall, maybe he knew that loving means sacrifice. Maybe he knew that if you wish to be free, if you wish to be loved, then you should be prepared to die a death more painful than atrophy.  What is falling from the sky in comparison to falling…

The smell of earth just after rain feels so new again and again; Each scent bestows fresh rebirth, Diffusing from raindrops tipping with mirth; I stroll on the unbothered turf near trees, Carefully contemplating, with my head low – I find The little stars of the day; I freeze – Amazed – Leaving all the…

How is it that your absence lingers shorter than your presence wanes? Fewer breaths than it takes smoke to rise from crushed remains, Fewer beats than the tremble when your last note slows; My lipstick still smudged on the wine glass, witness to what nobody knows. Swear it was just vivid, once divine,  Shadows in…

I’m not a poet – not Shakespeare, not Dickenson, not Plath. My words are quite simple; Far from a masterpiece, it’s clear. They may not rhyme, but I don’t mind; It’s not the reason I write my poetry anyway. I write for myself – For the ones I love, The ones who chose to depart,…

What life shall I behold? What shall my world be? A long play where I wear a mask and hide my scars? A short tale that keeps me wondering through the quiet night? A sonnet that I recite freely? A melody that moves me till dawn? No, something more. A dream I’ve been longing to…

The masks were white—not clean, but dead,like wilted lilies left too long in water,faces frozen mid-lie,grinning with teeth that never knew warmth. They surrounded me—and I, draped in a robe too white to belong to me,felt them cling like guilt to my skin. It whispered of silence,of purity I never asked for,in a room reeking…