Cosmic Scale

A galaxy is held in her glowing gaze
Its cosmic realities dance
like ballerinas on a planetary stage
telling a tale in a glance.
but she’s a spy hunting down lies
Creating peace to balance
the scale of an unforgiving universe
caught up in its brilliance
It kills its inner angels for what?
To satisfy violence.

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Punching Bag

Can’t take another punch today

I wish this pain would go away

 

Another kick will lay me low

And put my heart through another go

 

No will to rise up and stand

Rather the Darkness holds my hand

 

I know well its bitter touch

And yet this world’s become too much

 

So as I lay down to sleep

I hope my soul, it will keep

 

For if tomorrow waits my gaze

I’ll welcome its numbing ways.

It Consumes (An Ottava rima Poem)

Fire and brimstone in her fury filled gaze

Burning her enemies, forever scarred.

She dances around the ashes and blaze,

A wicked smile bears teeth, her face unmarred.

Death abounds, surrounds, holds her in its maze.

A game she thought to play, leaves her in shards.

For Wrath creates victims, ripping out hearts.

Lives left damaged, long after it departs.

Clothing, My Cross To Bear

My clothing mocks me

Every time I put it on.

It whispers awful things

And makes me wish I was gone.

It hangs from my shoulders

Or hugs my flabby hips.

It tells me how fat I am

In harsh and hurtful quips.

My clothing mocks me

With its drab and ugly shapes.

I’m too big for nicer clothes

Always drawing eyes that gape.

Okay, that part might be a lie.

I keep my gaze on the ground

Afraid of their hateful stares

That judge every single pound.

In the end it’s my own sight

I wish to dodge in the mirror.

It rips me apart each time

Feeling me with dread and fear.

I wish to change,

Start down that path

But in my way

Are mocking laughs.

You see, it starts with my clothes

The ones I put on every day.

They judge me harshly

And they’re always in the way.

I wish I was skinny, healthy and free,

But I don’t know if that will ever be me.

 

 

Tired

I am tired.

Tired of carrying the house’s chores.

My husband’s constant need for backrubs.

I am tired .

Tired of figuring out dinner night after night.

My dogs’ inane need to whine every morning.

I am tired.

Tired of feeling worthless, hung out to dry.

My siblings’ hateful gaze when I speak.

I am tired.

Tired of feeling alone, pulling myself up.

My inner mind’s dark, dark voice.

I am tired.

Tired of sleeping in, depressed.

My dream’s constant hold on me.

I am tired.

Tired of carrying everyone’s problems alongside my own.

My need to please all those around me.

I am tired.

Tired of throwing myself to the side.

My desire to put everyone else before me.

I am tired.

Why doesn’t anyone see that?

Why doesn’t anyone help?

Why doesn’t anyone lend a kind word?

 

 

The Nymph With A Siren’s Song

Moonlight dances on stilled waters

gracefully covering mossy shores.

Trees watch in stoic silence,

Like Statues guarding Nature’s Secrets.

Footsteps break the calming night,

Approaching the clear lake in awe.

In ethereal beauty, she stands barefoot,

A nymph whose wings glitter brighter than stars.

Her emerald eyes shimmer with promise

A siren’s voice sounds in the distance.

Light as air, she moves upon the water,

Finding her place in the night’s music.

Patterns form on the surface around her,

Chaotic and Beautiful under the Moon’s gaze.

Wings flutter in softened shadows

Lifting the nymph higher just to free fall.

The space is filled by her glowing prescence

Though she vanishes amongst the trees

Like an unformed thought is swallowed by the mind.

Removed from sight, the fireflies fade away,

A closing curtain on something unseen

And yet I know it was more than a dream.