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
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
LannaZee 