Dreading the fictions and their inner imaginings willingly embracing the poetry in those eager fingers / Unforgiving Eyes / Will you remember those words W h e n y o u a r e o l d - W h e n s h e ’ s g o n e ? Poetry soldiers missing in action— silent whispers that do not speak wonders, yet reveal half truths / Unforgiving Lies / Will you remember their words W h e n s h e’ s o l d - W h e n y o u ’ r e g o n e ? Dreading the fictions and their inner imaginings willingly embracing the poetry in those eager fingers / Unforgiving Minds / Like the poetry soldiers missing in action— yearning for fictions to evolve from abstractions Minds, eyes, white lies, soft words— barely whispered— under b l a z i n g e n e m y s k i e s
She yearned to become a spy yet she failed so miserably She walked the long walk and dressed in hued tones She hushed the sharp tongues and asked for bad karma For those that would play her— the good ones obeyed her Lila yearned to become a spy yet she failed so miserably She wore her dark shades, unravelled dark plots / with feline intention and birdlike precision / Yet her wings she did not want to get w e t So she’d run under cover on rainy days It was always warmer by that fireplace She yearned to become a spy— Yet she failed so miserably
I wish I’d never let you read any of the stories in my draft book Since I always knew you’d just skim through those pages ( Lousy reader that you were— now, your time, pronto! to get back to school ) This is a book that will never get published Too bad you trashed the draft upon first reading Too good you’ll never ever get to read the end, One so tenderly written in my doctor’s handwriting - undecipherable, for my Failed R e a d er E x t r a o r d i n a i r e
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 🤍.
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