I have been cruel.
I don't know if it was necessary.
I don't know if it was deserved.
All I know is that I have been cruel.
Why was it so?
Do I even regret it?
Have I truly stooped so low in this life?
The thought plagues me.
I know not what I have done,
But the thorns around my heart
Constrict with knowing silence.
They were merely words,
Having no effect on the receiver.
But I must live
Knowing I have been cruel.
– Maya Desdemona
Such a hideous creation could only be eradicated by its creator.
Or so they thought.
Perhaps the fact that the creator was deranged enough to create such a thing was warning enough.
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 kettle’s high pitched whistling seemed to only fuel her growing anger, while the tea that was furiously bubbling in it was now as bitter as her tears. Towards him she felt only resentment, but she always sugared his tea so he would not notice. He never did, anyway.
Only, with the sugar that was there was in his tea today, served as it always had been, a little poison had slipped from her vengeful gaze into his to-go beverage.
– Maya Desdemona
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
In spite of the lateness of this post, I most sincerely thank all my dear viewers for accompanying me on this thirty day journey, the previous post marking the end of both this journey we have shared and my vacation. As for what the future holds in store for us, it will surely be a matter of intrigue (that I hope, will not disappoint) as I will continue to post content and keep writing, for I remain,
Very Truly Yours,
Maya Desdemona.
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
I have never understood the concept of 'belonging'.
How could any thing,
Or being of this planet be assigned to anything?
Who would decide that?
What would it mean to that person?
I have noticed that it often becomes a part of their personality,
But what is its relevance?
What is this 'belonging' to begin with?
– Maya Desdemona
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
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
Luminousis 