Author: poetryfest

when the teaser-trailers
for this apocalypse stop,
and it finally just happens,
and the power is gone everywhere,
I will lose contact with a thousand
people I called friend, and desperately
try to get a hold of 20 of them;
the ones I find, I will hold them
close, and breathe the natural air
a little deeper. I will understand the
grace of the sun’s daily resurgence
and the miracle of natural food,
as I pick corn, cabbage, carrots and
tomatoes fresh in that garden
somewhere, and realize, I really
could have done this
without the apocalypse

In the quiet of the evening’s embrace,
Whispers of dreams softly trace,
Stars above begin to dance and gleam,
Inviting us into a world of serene.
The moonlight spills like silver streams,
Painting shadows,
Igniting dreams,
Each heartbeat echos a gentle sigh,
As twilight deepens our spirits soar high.
As the night whispers,
Our hope ignites,
Together we dance in the soft moonlight.

I slipped out of depression,
letting it cascade down my body,
slow and deliberate.
It felt good against my skin—
familiar, like a memory I’d buried.
The color was deep red,
bloodied and raw once exposed to air,
a perfect complement to my toasted almond complexion.
It fit me perfectly,
clinging to the curves of my disillusions,
dragging along the ground, heavy with regret.
I turned heads without trying—
always have.
But this presence, this facade,
shapeshifted me into something unreal,
a walking contradiction of my own truth.
“You’re glowing.”
“You’re stunning.”
Compliments rained down on me all night,
each one layering the illusion.
Now I’m home,
staring into a mirror that refuses to lie.
Naked. Vulnerable.
The truth puddles at my feet.
Glamour is a spell,
a quiet kind of magic
that lets me deceive the world…
and myself.

-Slip Dress

Once I slept.
And Now, I wake
The world around astounds

While others slumber with their dreams
I seem to float by leave

Drawn away to the majesty
Knowing I’ll never dream a dream again

Perching on the branch,
with white trim to the triangular crest
light blue outshone the sun.
The melodious chirping,
lifted up my lethargic spirits.

In the thrall of love, we used to be
drenched with tears and pity.
Years passed by,
we have molted and shed our skins.
Like the resident birds,
we have no intentions to migrate
far, far away.

Savoring the crisp autumn air,
we’re ready to embark,
with solemn oath,
from A to Z,
auspicious flintstone of
upbeat notes, memory
rekindle our flame of life,
hope and new life,
ready to soar, hover no more.

It could be that the words of gods are wrong,
Mere stories by but mortals’ fancies told,
Their reasoning that we indeed belong
Decayed and rotted through since eons old.
It could be that the laws of science fail,
Yet fragile theories spawned of ignorance,
Hypotheses suggesting our avail
Excusing lack of some significance.
If holy ghosts did not our souls align,
Nor ages’ change prepare us to persist,
Remains one explanation to assign
Why we, despite these fallacies, exist;
If neither those our cause together drives,
Then love provides the purpose for our lives.

In the silence of the night, I call your name,
A whisper lost in the wind, a flicker of flame.
You vanished without a trace,
Leaving me with shadows, and questions in hand.

Lebanon’s echoes carry your voice so far,
A distant memory, like a fading star.
Are you safe, my love, in the chaos and strife?
Or has the war stolen you, the light of my life?

I miss being with you, your laughter, your voice,
Now my messages don’t even go through, left without a choice.
I’m heartbroken and scared, not knowing you,
Every second without you feels like an endless wait.

I search the skies for a sign, a glimmer of hope,
In this endless darkness, struggling to cope.
Your absence is a wound, deep and raw,
A pain that lingers, a silent, aching flaw.

Come back to me,
Let me hold you close, like we did before.
But until that day, I’ll keep you in my heart,
A love unbroken, though we’re worlds apart.

My mistress Chelsea, she had an old Chickering piano
And I used to sit her on top of it and whisper to her.
Her smell, it was like the old ocean that we dream of now
When we ride through the blue plains, and look up at the sky
Wondering what dreams look like after the afterglow.
And I will never know personally what rides in the ocean of your mind, love.
But I know that I, sailing with the hurricanes and surfing
With Apollo and Poseidon, that the flow of you into me and the return flow
Of me into the future of us, it’s what this was for.
It’s what all of the tribulation and me being on trial was for.
Because I tried to put you on the stand, and it was bad.
It was bad bad, and I need to say this in so many languages, because I’m an animal
An animal an animal an animal an animal I am an animal!
And the leopards and the panthers play and the bears stand on their two feet calm,
But looking with eyes that could be dead and they are all still and tranquil now
But they shake on the inside with fear and respect for the love I had for Chelsea
Sitting on that old Chickering piano.
This is your gift in time.
This is your gift, this piano.
And my gift?
You.