There is peace awaiting purpose,
Calmness coursing through your stride.
A pensive and predestined journey,
Reflective expedition designated,
Originally for you.
Motivation takes over
You shudder to think of,
Arriving at the finish line.
Spasms churn your inner being,
Utopia seems so blurry and vague.
Do comprehend that,
You must relish this transitory median.
Dance like the nonchalant gypsy,
Numb to torrential rain.
Savour the jovial waves,
Crashing alongside your dampened feet.
Or bask in instantaneous glory,
Of witnessing the first star,
From the deepening twilight.
Hold on to your serenity.
May it grip you,
As the mighty talon of an eagle,
Whilst you are precisely woven,
Into the fabric of fate.
Monica St Hillaire, 2021
Sapphire saturated streets,
Exquisitely landscaped,
For your elegant traipse.
I'll savour your every stride,
Digest the moment,
Inhale the memory...
In the sun kissed valley,
Vault of heaven,
Embraces your song and dance.
Whilst your lustrous tresses,
Spiral rhythmically,
To the gentlest wind.
Repetition entwined,
With the iridescent sunbeam.
Bed of Gardenias,
Welcome your effortless glow.
Bedecked in satin laced fabric,
That delicately clings,
To every contour of,
Your flawless frame.
The sunflowers bow,
And a white dove ascends,
I stand in awe,
Till the sky bears an azure shade.
Complimentary in my corner,
This love weaves ,
Not an ounce of jealousy.
You are poetry in motion,
To this universe I profess,
From any length or angle,
Precisely what I see.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.
You left her by the wayside,
Dazed and disoriented.
Bewildered eyes of a foal,
Spawned upon her face.
Eliminated and eradicated,
With the passage of,
An unsettled wind...
Though passive and poignant,
Was her evident pain,
Explosion of her world,
Detonated inside her head.
You left her near a lifeless tree,
Where a perched raven,
Gazed momentarily,
Then flew away.
Just like misery,
Jeopardy loves company.
Nowhere and no one,
To turn to except for the,
Rising of the morning sun.
With her back toward,
Your menacing grin,
In a virtuous leap of faith,
She will make that first step.
As the vivid sunshine rays,
Guides her newfound quest.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.
I'll cry beneath the crescent moon,
Till my tears are no more.
My heart boasts a similar shape,
A crumbling concave,
But absent is the blinding glow.
Lull and dullness hover,
The remnants inside of me.
What courage can I muster?
I am no longer whole.
Even the stars weep for me,
Dreary Flashes,
Encompass the dismal sky.
Ominous wind blows,
Message is somewhat clear.
Broken is the heart,
Yet eternally the light lives on.
Engrossed thoughts pervade,
A weakened soldier retreats,
I kneel and I quiver,
I am no longer whole.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.
Astral night,
Dismisses the pale twilight,
Its rightful place seized,
In an empyrean sky.
A saturated shade,
Befriending the tranquility,
The darkness brings.
Bold and brazen,
Like a reigning monarch,
Until the contrast,
Of the jovial dawn,
Infiltrates...
And until then,
Profound dominion,
Upon the ravishing dark.
Dusky yet enchanting,
Beneath trinket stars,
Brilliance and aura,
Unmatched.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.
Intermittently, The dead of night, Beckons the call, Of drowning silence, That inevitably infiltrates, The zealous mind… Laying in bed, Passive median to, Dream and reality, Gently gliding in, Steadfast trance. A defining moment, Luminosity in my Eureka, Embedded in the epiphany, Enraptures inside my head. I oppose the astral night, And gloomy day… Metaphors magically fall. But there is a chronological, Method to my madness, A song for my sorrows, And praises for the beauty, That intrigues the soul. In these 2 am predicaments, I will pause for the motion. The corner stones I see. I will build my foundation, Long live poetry..
When the being passes on, Departs this earthly life, Soars into the hereafter. Leaving behind a husk, Of flesh and bone, Hollow and foreign, In front of weeping eyes. The heart oblivious, Filled beyond capacity, Just as the day before, When the spirit burned bright. Perpendicular angles, On opposite ends, Contrary realms, Infest sparingly in my head. Inundated in thought, My heart pulsated, While yours stood still… But this presence I feel, Unshakeable and rigid, I know deep down, Is the fire of your soul. Its validity infinite, As my love for you… You are here with me, Inexplicably diffused, Intricately manoeuvred, In the gentle evening breeze. The brightest star at night, Aligning with my every stride. Navigator to my intuition, You lead me to the fountain. These joyous elements, Caress my sanity. Snippets and fragments, Systematic proof, And authentic prelude, Of immortality.
Fragrant flower for you my love, Keepsake when I’m not around. A replica of what we share, Take a minute to ponder… Crimson and vibrant, My heart cries a joyful noise. Each petal like time capsules, Guarding our serendipitous souvenirs. Oh the enchanting aroma! That materializes solely, From the heart that is meant for you. Nurture this specimen, darling, The way you feed my soul. This beauty before you, Stems deeper than what, The eyes can see. I know you will find it, You have reigned victorious, In the rubble that is me. Should it wither and fade, Never you look away… True beauty is immortal. Interspersed in infinity, Ubiquitous and free. Precise path you will surely, Travel together with me… Be bona fide and ready, To turn memories into memoirs. Vivid flower, Momentous stepping stone, Long live our love…
These hands...
Harsh and worn, like a lonesome seaside rock
Diminutive in stature but with,
An overwhelming depth has consumed,
Dreams and fears... even the tears.
Time circulated like a roller coaster.
Come closer...
Convinced you know the story,
For you were there with me.
Your love...
Golden bright, as an authentic morning sunrise.
Can never outgrow the grandeur of spaciousness,
These hands have reserved for you,
Laughter with sad... even the bad.
Years flew like petals in the wind.
Come closer...
Let's both narrate the story,
For you were there with me.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2020.
