Half-remembered dreams
And unfinished soliloquoys,
Keeping my quiet
And I won't let you in my life.
But what have I done
To just leave this all alone,
Even with all of this time
My life is still not my own.
– Arsh
Ode To The Burnt (Matchstick)
Are you a burnt little matchstick?
Struck against scraping sandpaper
Till you shine bright enough to be a star,
But the joy of being enough is robbed by the end, without going far.
Burnt, crippled, broken, and used,
Now showing no more potential nor promise,
You are thrown away by the world,
Tossed in a pile without a thought,
The light you brought, they forgot,
So they have simply left you to rot.
-Maya Desdemona
Loss
I suppose there was truth when Calpurnia said:
"The heavens themselves blaze forth the death of princes."
For as I stare out my window,
Glancing at heaven above and ground below,
I see white lilies mourn the loss of a kind soul from this world,
And the mighty heavens themselves stand in shame at their helplessness.
On this day
A great and kindly spirit was robbed from this Earth,
Far too early, sooner than one would anticipate,
And simply...
That.
That spirit has left this Earth, and left us mortals in its wake
As fleeting as the picture captured
With these gifts called memories.
-Desdemona
Lured By Promises
Come on in,
Dip your toes in this-
Though I can't promise that the water will always be fine
In this tumultuous sea,
I will be your net,
Your safety boat,
Your clamouring hand
That reaches the shore,
That life-guard's vest
With a red whistle to blow
A calm embrace,
A caress to the face,
But while this siren says...
Your drowning I cannot replace.
– Maya Desdemona
The Real Monsters Remain
Fret not, little child,
The monsters under your bed are long gone,
The next monsters you must fear
Lurk within the minds of men.
It enslaves their heart,
And lives off their soul,
Construing their figures beyond recognition.
Turning them into a shell of their former person.
Fret not, little child,
Such monsters are a part of life,
They live within us all and live all too well,
For why else would poets of old admire your innocence,
Your childlike wonder, lost to the seas of time?
– Maya Desdemona
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.
The Last of Survival
Treading through the
Rubble of a ruined
World, Our wicked ways
Ran us to our ruin.
Trouble comes to,
And our aspirations,
Like all our laws,
Come down crashing.
– Arsh
The Curse
Multiple generations this curse has devoured,
Leaving naught but ruin in its wake.
The brave soldiers of old roused,
Yet failing to sate its appetite.
The latest group of brave volunteers,
Leave, off to perilous lands.
None will return, yet again,
This batch of willing sacrifices.
– Arsh
A Casualty
Across the pond filled with reeds,
The lone soldier's tall figure heaves.
Weary of his deeds,
He is now one with the weeds.
One can only hope that he finds peace,
And that his soul is now at ease.
– Maya Desdemona
The Burning Cold
Walk through the Hearth
As you would ice,
And from the cold flames
Your new self will rise.
Behead your past,
Be off with its head.
After the Flames have cleansed you,
You will freeze your dread.
Succumb to the Cold,
Invite the warmth of the Fireplace
For your sins have been frozen,
But your pitiful self remains.
– Maya Desdemona
Luminousis 