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
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.
My work has been selected for the
upcoming Anthology,
The Sound Of Brilliance,
scheduled for publication in a
few months.
I am honored beyond measure
and feel truly appreciated,
on being part of the whole,
that is the SHORT OF IT
family. Thank you,
Susi Bocks for this
tremendous opportunity.
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
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.
tinythoughtspoetry 