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
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
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
In every breath I take,
I only fill my emptiness
With air
For a brief while.
A longer release from this nameless burden that sits over me,
Would really be appreciated, you see?
I cannot breathe in for too long,
The weight returns with a spiking pain,
As painful as a somber memory...
Without name and cause,
This burden rests above my chest,
Yet from there it will not budge,
And I must be an Atlas, holding up the sky.
But wherefore does this weary weight come from,
It weighs heavy on the worn soul,
And when one knows not its cause,
It resembles a mystery to unfold.
My life is good and my worries are few,
Yet this immaterial intangible weight
Still constantly rests on my soul.
Are there others in this world
With so queer a tale to tell?
So I ask, dear readers,
So you feel such impending dread?
– Maya Desdemona
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.
Time truly flies
When it is nothing you are beside.
For oft it is something we are inside,
And naught we are presently outside.
Yet that peace found only on Death’s side
Is only found as one dies.
– 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.
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 suppose the reason I find the human mind the most rotten of all is only because it is the only one I know and understand.
There could be something way more malicious, but a human being would never know, for one can only truly communicate with other humans.
...
How terrifying.
– Maya Desdemona
Forget the old sirens,
Who tempted the sailors
With melodies and riches of old,
A more powerful one has taken their place.
For my bed so sweetly lulls me
With the warm embrace of sleep,
To wake up from such ecstasy,
Is a heartbreaking deed.
– Maya Desdemona
Luminousis 