Posted on by Undead Diaries

Nocturne


Sweet Nocturne,
She needs not the light of day,
Nor the labours that do not pay,
For with her she has numerous nebulae,
That keep her at bay.

She is oft mistaken with coldness and death,
But in her darkness one finds a hearth,
A truly limitless rebirth,
Yet one that blazes with solace.

It needs no light
And does not burn too bright,
So as to hurt your eyes
And feed you with all-encompassing lies.

For sweet Nocturne is Wicked
Man’s veil,
Though the many layers of her beauty
Enclose many in pain,
Those lost souls always searching for their way
Will always find themselves in that dark haze.

– Maya Desdemona, Arsh.

Posted on by Undead Diaries · 1 Comment

Day Eight: My Mother And Birds

If there is any being on Earth
That could even compare to my Mother,
It would be a Bird.
Not just any one at that!

With the might of an Eagle
And the wit of a Raven,
She would be the kind of bird
To soar over treetops
And chirp happily with the other fowl.

She would not be a shrill bird either.
With the voice of a lark,
She would sing melodies that
Great poets could not even compare.

In every sense,
She would be an early bird.
Pecking us if we didn't wake up
To her chirping.

She would be free to glide
All over the World,
but would still choose her nest
to return to at the end of each day.

Now, Human or Bird,
I wish only one thing.
That my Mom remains happy,
And that one thing is enough.

– Maya Desdemona