Aspiring to be the best at writing. Poetry lover, haiku and free verse to be precise, I hope to one day master
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
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2022.
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…
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2022.
Write my name in this moistened sand White lilies are fading Simultaneously with the utterance Of words abound in solemnity Carve our dates between the gnarled oak tree Robins flew away a minute too soon But I kept each and every memory Savored that happy space Sketch my face in the corners of your mind Whilst we reign in existence Appoint me your hero Battle any encroaching dark force Armored and aligned we must be Trotting through this portal of destiny Me for you and you for me Signed and sealed marvelling in eternity (c) Monica St Hillaire, 2022.
Lest I forget
Breaking free this pivotal morn
Marvel in metamorphosis
Doused in redemption
Remembered the dark night
Encroached in cascade fashion
My space in destiny now depleted
A weight so unendurable
My head elevated to the lull sky
The goal to feel less constricted
Even for a brief moment
Does a butterfly recall
Any remnants from its cocoon
An alluring apparition
From the faded chrysalis
Allow the sequence to conform
Like a string of priceless pearls
This world is ready
Dormancy has died
Life will indeed go on
Let my wings flutter and soar
Interlaced with a sunrise
Ardorned in brilliance
I am breaking free
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2022.
Erroneous... Spasms like a wave at sunset Gently uniting with the sandy shore Serendipitous collision maybe... A tender to the touch feel But you are gone... Crystalline illusion that is fading fast No prismatic rainbow That hoists the pot of gold What am I to receive from a naive heart? Turmoil grasping for navigation You are gone... Time will indeed wane Hills and valleys await to greet me For I radiate warmth Monarchs shall flutter their wings merrily But for now no whistling from the wind You are gone... (c) Monica St Hillaire.
Moonlight mystique,
Traverses the air.
The mocking bird is my friend.
His song comforts my silence,
Empathy is not far away…
As stars take their rightful place,
In an extensive sky.
Predestination seals its beauty,
Alluring in their prime.
Darkness won’t ever crumble,
To the lull of a forthcoming dawn.
Sing mocking bird sing,
Lyrics need not triumph…
Endurance I can muster,
Hold my rightful place,
As median to what is drawing near,
And what is left behind…
(c) Monica St Hillaire.
Tears of joy from Uranus Descend upon the earth today An alignment so divine Two hearts destined to be together Fate shall reveal its face Beneath the pale blue sky A swan gracefully glides Leaving behind sequential ripples Perfection in this flawed world Gifted to be a witness of A warm moment of bliss Oblique is the gaze Color of beauty in a prismatic form All that's left to do is sigh If what is to transpire Is better than this present time Bated breath will be impossible to subdue The soul already hungers May the glimmer of the sun forever stand still The fairytale begins now (c) Monica St Hillaire. 2021.
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