LEGEND

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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..

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.

BROKEN BALLAD

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Listen carefully,

You’ll hear the somber song,

In my sadness.

That piercing falsetto,

Shatters the mirrored doorway.

Tears stream down,

Rigid and swift.

An enigmatic flow,

Unaware of their fate…

They were in firm solidarity,

With my heartbreak.

Synchronization so metrical;

Feeling like a puppet on a string.

These masterminds,

Of this dreary hole,

I now dwell in…

As I sit here,

Doleful and dejected,

The rhythmic chant,

Consumes inside of me.

Glum quivers,

Unending…

(c) Monica St Hillaire. 2021.

SANCTUM

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There is that space,

Between dream and reality,

Where you get to float.

Soar without ceasing,

Weight not in existence,

And timeless is the glow.

Free of mystery,

Unbound to burdens.

To shun,

The abyss of the night;

The labyrinth of the day…

Let not your,

Inner being thirst.

Seize your haven!

Your realm is real.

Yes…

Between the charcoal dusk,

And the ember dawn,

Embrace your moment.

However miniscule,

It is where,

Euphoria thrives.

(c) Monica St Hillaire.

OASIS…

PHOTO BY PIXABAY
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.