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This Too Shall Pass

Stop! What are you doing?
Your life is ebbing away,
And here you are, ever idling.

The world is still spinning,
The sultry Swallow's birdsong still sounds,
The flowers still bloom,
And Life moves on.

Your labours shall last forevermore,
Your worries shall never end,
For as you live and breathe,
You shall be troubled yet.

For that is Life, my friend,
Full of beauty and sorrow in equal measure,
And so many feelings strange and new,
While so familiar, and so old.

So take heart! Move on!
Go forth, knowing that 
There shall be greater follies than this to come.
The road is tough, the path is long,
But where it leads,
Is your life's call.

– Desdemona

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The Jester’s Sinful Privilege

"I jest ye not,
I only know what I see,
And that is a Fool on Our throne."
A peasant once said,
Only to find, the very next day,
His entire family dead.

The man himself
Was hanged for treason,
When in reality,
There was not one,
A proper reason.

A jester that day,
Made the very same claim,
In hopes that his fate,
Would end without much pain.

Yet that horrible crowd,
On hearing his rave,
Just laughed, complete and unfazed.

Had the peasant donned the mask of this harlequin,
His life would not only be spared,
He would be lauded for his comedic praise.

– Maya Desdemona

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Ghosts of Time

I am haunted,
Haunted by ghosts.
'Could have been', 'Should have been',
'Could be', and 'Should be' 
Are their names.
Alas, it is only these four
That fill my lonesome days.

'Could have been',
'Could have been',
How pitiful you are!
Your grandiose wishes
Were crushed by
Circumstance and chance.

'Should have been'
Shushes all others,
A pearl among the gems.
He lies like a carcass
Hewn for the hounds, helpless.

'Could be' is the cruellest of them all,
A cry to the present,
But to 'face thyself' is to 'face thy enemy',
'Tis but a cascading conquest.

'Should be' is the sternest,
The shrillest of the four,
The future is in her hands,
Though the past is set in stone.

These companions, mine,
Seem to enter the eye
Only in the depths of Night,
To flow like sand under a rock,
Wasting hours of my life.

– Maya Desdemona

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Night Lights (In The Big City: Part One)

Thunder furiously rumbled across the dark night sky. Pensive, brooding, sulking.
Just like the moody Evelynne Yvonne Marie.
Twirling coils of smoke left the cigar between her fingers, as she stared at the twisting, raging tongues of fire caged in her lighter, begging for release.

How did she end up here? She wasn’t quite sure. But as she stood, sagging her fatigued figure over the rooftop railing, all she could do was gaze at the millions of miniature lights dimly lighting the city below.
“Strange, how the World is so bright even in the darkest of times…” she mused out loud, to no one in particular except the biting cold thrown around by the violent winds. She seemed to sway dangerously towards whichever side this tempest took her, as the only parts of herself fixed to anything at all were her eyes, still staring ahead.

In the far distance, a loud crack of thunder carried itself across the city sky, bringing with it the harsh, steady sound of rain hitting all, be it building, pedestrian, or pavement. Even so, the lights shined as bright as ever, never once dimming.

– Maya Desdemona

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Thoughts of a Night Owl

My heart is locked in a bony cage,
Where it writhes and turns for Freedom's sweet lips.

It toils to keep this mortal vessel alive,
Yet struggles to find some peace of mind.

But Darkness calls with comfort and change,
Death's loving embrace so gentle and safe,

The Night calls away all worries formed by Day.

– Maya Desdemona

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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

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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

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Lilium – Sweet Lily

Sweet lilium,
Thy ghostly pallor paired with thine emerald stem,
Reaching for golden sunlight to bask thy head,
Symbol of rebirth, and of death.

At the feet of the Madonna thou art placed,
Purity of the soul returned to Heaven’s embrace,
Flush with life, forever in graceful sway,
Sweet lilium, now in decay.

– Maya Desdemona

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On the happenings of Today

The delicate peace promised to us by the leaders of the world hangs on a balance that tilts steadily towards the rough, violent arms of war. The modern day and age, the one that promised this peace and progress, has seemingly forgotten the many suffering souls around the world, still oppressed, still denied their basic human rights. It is our duty, as citizens of our respective countries, and as individuals living in this world, to brighten this world for all those in it, to leave it a better place than when we entered it, and above all, to seek justice and recompense for those wronged by the powerful voices of this world.

– Maya Desdemona