SLOWLY DYING

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

Pain of a mimicked heart
Agonizing whirlwind
Jesters know the lyrics
Mimed tune for a mocking raven
Dismembered and torn
Exhausted from dangling
Repeatedly to puppeteers delight
Seized and dominated
In arduous angst
Strings perforated within
New rhythm being born
Of faint palpitations
Decaying remains surround
Ravaged carcass existent
laying motionless on the ground
Irregular beats obvious transgressor
Leaves room to ponder
Myriad of thoughts brew
In a subliminal mind
Does fate even compensate
Will a rain shower suffice
Exact amount that awakens
Wilted wildflowers dazed
From scorched brazen sunlight
Scrutiny feels like
Final nail on the coffin
Paling heartbeats
Infrequent and throbbing
A mere mortal’s prelude of
Walking an unending tightrope

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.

HEAVILY GUARDED

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

Three steps from the wishing well...
Beige hills fuels this somber aura.
Softly bow down my head,
In succession of falling teardrops.
Silver coin dazzle eluded my sadness,
No gazing of any rippled motion,
Glare of sunshine was my companion.
Translucent words within me,
Crystalline and lucid,
Yet a gripping joust deters any utter,
Or repressed remark from these frigid lips.
Sub conscious eager to constrain,
Heartbreak of a time bygone,
Any reprisal assuredly condemned.
No repetition of the past,
Along this dreary reality.
In sequential fashion,
As a mockingbird flew by,
Beam of lucent sunshine was solemnly,
My one and only companion.

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.

TWO STEPS BACK

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

The locket broke today...
Abrupt fall caused its untimely demise.
The timing is uncanny,
For you have now left my life,
A bond sworn never to be broken.
Standing along this pathway of cobblestone,
I see a resemblance to my heart.
It just has to be the same,
Crushed and uneven inside of me.
The flowers are all wilted,
I shun from the evening sunsets.
Shudder to think at times,
What these feelings can spiral into.
If this is forever and day,
Like your previous solemn vow,
Then I am forever trapped in a Pandora's box.
Screaming at the top of my voice,
Which is to no avail.
What corner of this earth am I to turn to?
Wished that locket did not break today,
Firm in my belief it was the one keepsake,
That harboured wondrous moments.
The one keepsake...
That brought genuine solace,
In its bittersweet mystique,
The time swiftly rolled on by,
I was one hour closer,
To being reborn...

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.

DROWNING

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

Profound silence

Amplifies with each passing moment

Dimness of the room

Takes on a deeper shade

So concentrated

It restricts my breathing

The very same passage

That was once abundant with air

Absence can be an intricate culprit

Like a flower in the cold winter

Withering your defences

Elapsed time

In this whirlwind of confusion

I desire any sign that comes

Any light in this surreal tunnel

Trickle of sun rays

Piercing through the old cracks

Lodged within the wall

A light so miniature and vague

But immense and fair in meaning

These fictitious shackles

Will be removed

This solitude I endure

Expeditiously

Will cease and desist

( c) Monica St Hillaire 2021.

BROKEN BALLAD

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

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.

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THAT WISE BIRD

PHOTO BY PEXELS

A hollow in my heart.

Dungeon borders my soul,

Heavily guarded by an army of woes.

Dejection tramples on my spirit,

Kindred connections disbarred.

There is murkiness in the distance,

The road marred with desolation.

Oh this deafening silence!

Pungent taste of reality;

A realm I now dwell in.

Compression infests my movement,

But I persevere.

Stare without blinking,

Yawn without sleeping…

This pain is heavy.

Yet the notion to proceed persists within.

Song of the Sparrow,

In the touching distance.

Whistle of serenity; a sound of hope.

In an instant, my despondency effaced,

Like a mid evening fog.

I exhaled, with such precision.

The soldiers retreated and left for home,

Just as I was going home…

Never will I look back.

Should the pathway behind crumble,

Like an ill-fated stack of dominoes,

I will not see.

With the winds of change blowing at my side,

A singing Sparrow to symbolically guide.

Forward motion is now my stride…

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.

WOMAN…

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

She was golden
Long before the rising sun
One treasure chest
You never want sunken
Epiphany
The pieces fit perfectly
Her bosom
A cradle to the innocent
Your burdens
Weightless
To her ever caring heart
In full bloom
Flower for every season
It’s quite okay
Hand her the rocks
Undoubtedly
She will find the diamonds

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.

BROKEN PIECES

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

These eyes have cried

A thousand tears

Sporadic as an evening shower

The periwinkles are drenched

But the grass does not shine

An overflowing fountain

I can no longer suppress

Not a dime to my name

For my one true wish

Speechless I have become

Constant quiver of the tongue

Restrain me from climbing out

Of a hole that is dismal and dark

Surely whatever I touch

Never turns to gold

Like a star that shone bright

Standing victorious

My sense of hearing

Is in impeccable form

I heard the slamming of the door

A daunting echo

I will never forget

Knowing without

A shadow of a doubt

You were gone

Never to return

A love once united

A life now divided

Yet in this existence

We must live

You will live without my love

And I will live with your choice

Monica St Hillaire, 2020.

MASQUERADE BALL…

PHOTO BY PIXABAY
Foolish as it may seem,
I am in love with a memory.
That reeked of a charade,
Hide and seek,
The kind children play.
You left like a summer's end,
Dredging all my warmth.
My hands remained clenched,
For you were gone.
Evanescent clouds before my eyes,
My faith as big as Gibraltar,
Now a sunken pebble.
I await the pale moonlight,
To eagerly catch some hope.
Inside is just too empty...
The hollow sound is boisterous.
As I stare into your eyes,
I anticipated my reflection.
But you turned toward the meadow,
So I could not see.
Even a broken mirror,
Would have made me happy.
As I muster courage to move on,
Walk these dim lit streets,
I sometimes turn back.
Bent on seeing your face.
Convinced that I,
Made no mistake in,
Unconditionally loving you.
And foolish as it may seem,
I still do...

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2020.