Poem 1: Prismatic Dreams
There once was a shadow that dreamed of the light.
Forbidden was this dream, for it was a denizen of the night.
Time after time, it watched in reverence from the darkness as bright
colors fractalized, blending discordantly into beautiful harmony.
The shadow knew it would never join their synchronicity,
for it had no hue nor tint, so this hope never could be.
Nonetheless, it continued to dream.
Perhaps one day, this could be.
It would wait and see,
even for an eternity.
One can dream…
Poem 2: Kingdom in Quarantine
Long ago in a distant time,
there once reigned a king quite sublime.
His subjects admired him
and the people adored him,
for he was a kind and benevolent ruler.
Businesses were booming,
and he was set on ruling
his kingdom with grand visions of the future.
These prosperous times, however, would not last,
for an unknown illness spread throughout the vast
landscape, soon encroaching on the royal castle.
Now the king wasn’t spry as he once was,
but from this age he had grown to be wise.
He knew drastic measures must be taken
before his people began to count among the fallen.
And so it would be
by his royal decree
that his kingdom
must be quarantined.
“This is for your own good,
stay in your neighborhoods,
we mustn’t let this spread out of hand,”
as the king would command.
His subjects, of course, weren’t happy.
‘What about the economy!’
and so on they groaned and they whined.
“Be rest assured,
you’ll be cared for,
and all of your needs will be met.
No need to fret,
don’t be upset,
you don’t have to be so concerned.”
Still, his people weren’t convinced.
Even as they spoke, many fell ill.
‘Why must we live this way?’
‘I cannot work while standing still.’
‘The king must be senile,
how can he say
we all must stay?’
To these cries, the king did not protest.
No man’s words can quell this sort of unrest,
so he expressed instead his intent through action,
providing for all a daily ration.
None were happy, but none would raise their torches.
Though Death passed by, most still stood on their porches.
In time, this plague would fade away.
All the king’s subjects
and all the townspeople
would thrive again one day
and gather at the steeple.
‘Praise our lord, for he has kept us safe!’
‘Long live our king, for he is great!’
The people would cheer, hailing the name
of King Justin, his wise and humble grace.
Poem 3: Waxen Wings
let me be,
set me free.
can’t you see?
it’s not enough.
it’s never enough.
i’ve had enough.
there’s blue skies above,
and red roses too…
why can’t you see
the world the way i do?
i don’t want to
fly up towards the sun.
i want to stay down here
Poem 4: The Empty City
A gentle breeze flows through the streets, though none are left to feel it. No man’s owned this land for decades, perhaps centuries… who’s keeping track? A bell tower hangs forever quiet, none the wiser to the long-forgotten toll of the vespers. Where once children played on the streets, where once farmers sold their wheat, where once was heard the patter of feet, there now is naught but silence. In a once-bustling market where merchants bargained precious goods, a great oak has set up shop without license. Scratched-up signs swaying over doorways, they say “Clearance Sale Today!”, won’t you knock on their door? Their shelves are full of goods galore, but this store sells wares nevermore.
Poem 5: A Stone’s Throw
You always seem so close, yet far away….
There’s this vast space dividing you and me.
I patiently await that distant day
when that which defines us will set us free.
I know that moment will come, I feel it.
No matter the time it may take, I’ll wait.
Though the two of us now may be split,
We’ll cross this bridge on that special date.
Until then, my dreams shall be only of you,
the love of my life in both heart and mind.
To you I hold faithful and stay true,
in this resolution I am consigned.
It feels as if we’re light years apart, though
the space between us is a stone’s throw.