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
Day Thirty: Waltzing Masquerade
In this ballroom,
They are bride and groom.
But it truly seems,
That this arrangement attracts doom.
For they are but puppets,
Forced to dance on a never-ending stage,
So they play their parts to perfection,
Praying that someday,
Things will change.
For whom are you putting on this act?
To which great masquerade artist
Are you trying to prove yourself?
– Maya Desdemona
Day Twenty Eight: Prison Pastimes
Pessoa once wrote
In his Book of Disquiet,
That "Only the imprisoned,
With the fascination
Of someone watching ants,
Would pay such attention
To one shifting ray of sunlight."
At first I begged to differ,
Stating my reasoning
That great poets were never once caged,
But the more I thought on the matter
The clearer it seemed to me,
That the only cage holding such a poet
Is one of his own decree.
– Maya Desdemona
Day Twenty Seven: Clockwork
Your mechanical typing
Truly resembles clockwork.
Although I am aware
That you are, at present,
Heartlessly and mindlessly at work,
I cannot help but compare you to clockwork.
The many gears of your mind are turning,
Your hands continually typing,
Your soul is now nonexistent,
And your heart seems to have failing power.
Such a lively person so lifeless,
Can even strike something called pity,
Yet I know you well,
And can only cackle at your half-heartedness.
But my, What is this?
It seems my laughter has raised your spirits,
And now you happily chat with me,
While your work lays forgotten.
– Maya Desdemona
Day Twenty Six: Daydreaming
I am here,
Though my mind is anywhere but.
That mind refuses to be caged
In the tight confines of the cranium,
And freely roams the world.
The tragedies of Old
And comedies that are new
Are where you will find mine,
Forever seeking entertainment.
Oftentimes I wonder
Why it leaves me behind.
Take me with you, dear mind,
Don't leave the flesh behind on this planet.
Yet the mind will forever only watch,
Never feel the emotions that
It travels Fact and Fiction to see.
I suppose,
In this sense,
A closed cage is better than
Never feeling what one sees.
– Maya Desdemona
Day Twenty Five: Greed And War
All it takes
To ruin the peace of
One who does not know war
Is the greed of One individual.
– Maya Desdemona
Day Twenty Three: A Lake
I passed by a small lake,
Devoid of even a single ripple,
And saw it reflect everything beside it with perfect clarity.
To me, it seemed more truthful than
Any mirror I had ever gazed upon.
I saw it for but a fleeting moment,
But that simple glance showed me an entire world around it.
– Maya Desdemona
Luminousis 