Footsteps along a tranquil bay Daunting task trying to catch A crimson sun’s prompt departure Beauty worthy of an encore Tomorrow a forever wait Mountains bring forth no justice Echoes to imminent future prohibited Like a censored boomerang Beckons the dusky semblance Of a quiet yet placid bay Cast away callousness Time capsules eradicated For a walk to remember Poised and in stride After all In the magic of the present It is all we have
She wore a red dress today… Not to accentuate the scorching fire within, Or even sneer at every flaming ember. Ultimately the sunset hue was her fancy, Boundary of daylight. Motionless yet marvelling at its ambience, She firmly pondered, If such a borderline can be pieced, Near her wounded heart. Lodged in captivity, A taunting perimeter, Adorned in solid armour. Just a fiery crimson flatters the horizon, Where mere mortals gaze in pure fondness. Though in reality, A whimsical median, The story far from finished., Fate rests like bedecked poppies In a methodical maneuver, Waiting… Her intuition works overtime, Movement is imminent and inevitable. She wore a red dress today…
Permit the dewdrops to fall, Command ascending sunbeams, Flowers might duly curtsey, Should luck bear witness. Be still and vigilant, In a compound world, An engrossed realm, Expeditious pace of reality. Agile wind rhythmically blows, Grasping change with all its might. Night rests in solemn peace, Over an enigmatic horizon, Among kaleidoscopic sparkles, Forever to dangle at the cusp of day. The medium established as a blank page, Ambiguous maybe… Shrewd demands to cease the moment. Challenge that inner being to make memories, To ingest life’s complexities, Awaiting the unknown, Exhale every bygone, To just simply and earnestly be…
Supernova supreme, You came and went. Minute was the moment, But the memory everlasting. Immortality surrounds your name, An unforgettable beauty. Woman, your star still shines, As bright as the morning sun. The warmest smile, Could dim any diamond glare. How you were loved, A flame so everlasting, Infinity will never be the same. The goal indeed conquered, An impression so deep. Woman, your star still shines, As bright as the morning sun. In an original fashion, That can only belong, To a rose like you.
There’s a misdemeanor in the moon… Trickery through swift howling wind, Equivalent to vast illusions, Of a descending waterfall. Tainted in ambiguity, Yet mystified amidst exquisite ambience. Dredging nomadic feelings, To roam in an extraordinary zeal, And converse with smoky mountainous peaks. Relaying thoughts that engrossed one’s mind, On the dynamics of this callous world. Fully aware to continuously dance, Like that of daring gypsies, Twirling at lightning speed, Unbeknownst of an encroaching tomorrow. Ample time some might say, To surely interweave and fuse, Among these phenomenal elements, Laden in flawed perfection.
A reawakening so refined,
Unblemished retreat deep in silence,
Mannerisms willfully suppress mayhem.
An outcry lingers to ride the cape,
Of an encroaching sunset,
Blanketed in prismatic gold sequence.
Sleep like a rare Morning Glory,
Abiding in discipline,
Delayed in eloquence.
Much is to be exhibited,
Pungent smell of revival,
No glacial falling star,
Among the shadowy night,
Can ever mask.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2022.
Why does one thirst near the water well?
Or shed a tear near the salty sea?
Contemporary ounces of perplexity,
Yearning for what the dawn brings.
We've yet to catch a falling star,
Discover the precise end of a rainbow,
In all its chromatic glory,
While scouting for tomorrow's corner,
Threading light and subtle,
Catch and seize the present,
Thirst for the greater good,
Cry to heal one's soul.
Scripted chronicles await,
Interlaced with serendipitous moments,
Amidst destiny's hour.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2022.
Belong to me As a precision cut gem Hounding instinct You are indeed not whole Perplex is your stare Strongest magnetism ‘ ‘Neath the corners of poised eyes Natural as morning mist Layering the highest of mountainous peak Submissive to your own joy Haste of evanesced drops Belong to me
Systemic in a paramount system
Alluring and perplexed
Leaves do not conform
In their whirlwind spiral
Ascending to an overcast sky
My every premeditated step
Bears no silhouette in the dark
Invisible remnants of shattered glass
But that boisterous noise
Warm welcome relief over
This speechless silence
Infiltrating dim somber perimeter
A forbidden space
Supremacy comes full circle
Repetition is imminent
As clustered dewdrops begin to fall
Staunch methodical madness
Only a few can master
(c) Monica St Hillaire.
Palpitations of a weary heart A partial eclipse… Gradually holding on to existence Meandering towards the hilltop No laughter from the merry men As blurred mist encroaches Faith a minute grain But the soil is not barren The ground not parched Like a nomadic gypsy Barefoot and brazen Gravitate… Dance amidst the wispy air Melancholy will die a slow death Bury it by the wayside This ground is not parched Leaves boldly glimmer Though sometimes Replenished by teardrops Dance gypsy dance The heart will endure…