We used to dream of brighter futures, features concealed by demure v e i l s Souls almost blurred by shy, dry tears fears hinted in those faces—dark and p a l e Oppressive times, so stark and fearful, Venetian masks silencing those worry t a l e s We used to dream of brighter futures, features concealed by demure v e i l s What face we’d find under such attires— question harassing our snotty brains, those d a y s We used to dream of brighter futures, features concealed by demure v e i l s Oppressive times, so stark and fearful, there was only so much hope to fight those w a i l s Momentum for change Lost opportunity? — We’d never wish for those sad days to s t a y We used to dream of brighter futures, features concealed by demure v e i l s What face we’d find under such attires— colourful masks silencing our worried faces—dark and p a l e
She trespasses the confines of this purple forest, the one I just i m a g i n e d My legs dangling in the air— u n n e r v e d by the lack of motion of recent days She twists and turns and sings and rhymes— Mother of verse Sister of bored d e s p a i r— with frenzied flow Her feet tapping to the sound of a tune only I can h e a r
rarity gravity willowy s i g t h s sensing the fears that pierce through your body mind soul and thy h e a r t * rarity gravity magical n i g t h s drying these tears all sensing the fears that pierce through the body mind soul and my h e a r t * rarity gravity subdued star l i g h t tearful, silent, day-dreaming we stumble on willowy s i g h t s * drunk with wild wonders day-dreaming we tumble, we write, dream, still, humble, f l o a t , w e i g h t l e s s , t o n i g h t
night of the monsters land of the ghosts fighting the dragons— all the night hosts flight or free-falling at dusk— such dark ride wild and sky diving— a spiralling mind night of the monsters land of the ghosts fight of the dragons— by rugged coasts flight or free-falling— the sound of false tunes those wicked noises, all the sky croons play to deaf ears through all glossy trails— flight or free-falling, smokey travails night of the monsters land of the ghosts fighting the dragons in nightmares they boast flight or free-falling at night— such dark ride all but divining— a spiralling mind
cold-blooded smile and somber cues you think you laugh — but inside she’s s m i l i n g her fingers now holding her serpent brush — as she dyes new days with ocher embracing l a y e r s black stilettos found in her long-forgotten chest of time nearly crying out — barefoot days a r e o v e r while her canvas, fair sets those h e e l s alight, cold-blooded s m i l e — stomping feet through p l i g h t her fingers, now, firmly hold the brush— as she paints new days with ocher embracing l a y e r s high-heeled, great shine, warm-blooded, s l i g h t , you think she cries — but, inside, s h e ’ s s m i l i n g
i tried too hard to catch a glimpse of your soul on your fragile m i r r o r the one I forgot to clean when I got home really late at n i g h t falling asleep while fighting ghosts I’d only heard about, not even quite, i m a g i ne d for they never really existed, all but a fake reflection of your silent, deadly, maddened, b i t e
You can read it here:
With this poem I wanted to pay homage to poetic and fictional works—as they become safe spaces where writers and readers alike can fulfil their desires, and ultimately enact their true identities.
Through the act of reading literary works, we can get a glimpse of these dreams and desires, and of all those perhaps idealised versions of ourselves (writers) in relation to others (readers).
Feel free to like the poem on the Spillwords page if you feel so inclined 🤍.
You can also reach me through IG: @lannazeescribbles – I’ll be delighted to see you on Instagram too.
Thank you SO MUCH for reading, liking, and commenting on my posts. I couldn’t be happier to have fellow bloggers enjoy my writing 🖤.
with his singers and dancers she could not c o m p e t e as she had only killer words to offer— to be licked and s a v o u r e d dark chocolate bites for lyrically sophisticated t a s t e b u d s he now wished he’d gotten an earlier taste—but was already perishing with languid b r e a t h just as he’d swallowed the very last lyrical mouthful of her poisoned s t a n z a for she only had killer words to offer— to be licked and s a v o u r e d dark chocolate dessert for his sweet and sultry cabaret s o i r é e
shake things up shake things down shape things wild a n d b o x t h e m i n right or wrong it’s all t h e y ’ v e b e e n * they’ve seen g r e y they’ve seen b l a c k , demure shades— a field of d r e a m s right or wrong it’s all t h e y ’ v e s e e n * now, and then, been... ...and seen, tonight, grey worlds, be come s w e e t d r e a m s
one day you wake up all ached and word- s l u m b e r ed still yawning— yet realising you couldn’t live without living v e r s e you should’ve fixed that purple alarm clock by your bedside t a b l e when there was still time to save those stanzas from the literary b l a z e poor Poetry— the one you forever took for g r a n t e d won’t you wake up before it all burns down to a s h e s ? hopefully not too late— a lyrical wake-up call from your poetic d a z e A l l p o e t r y . . . . . . N o p o e t r y g r e y p o e t r y h o p e f u l l y y o u ’l l w a k e u p l y r i c a l l y f r e s h T o d a y