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.
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…
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
Memoirs from my memories,
Verses in my head.
My life in a globular orbit,
With every scene a highlighted pause.
A graceful sigh uttered,
Materialized moments coursing within,
To a blissful epiphany,
In a vivid aura belonging to only me.
Trajectory I follow in substantial movement.
Midnight walk along the shore,
Stroll near a myriad of sunflowers,
Encroaching twilight near immense pine trees.
Depicted with such definiteness,
Motion to my poetry,
Pillar to my every stanza.
This world reeling in the palm of my hands,
Combined with a limitless sky,
Simply waiting for me.
Memoirs from my memories,
In an unprecedented life,
Live in these eccentric moments,
Immortalized in whimsical wording.
(c) Monica St Hillaire,2021.
I'll cry beneath the crescent moon,
Till my tears are no more.
My heart boasts a similar shape,
A crumbling concave,
But absent is the blinding glow.
Lull and dullness hover,
The remnants inside of me.
What courage can I muster?
I am no longer whole.
Even the stars weep for me,
Dreary Flashes,
Encompass the dismal sky.
Ominous wind blows,
Message is somewhat clear.
Broken is the heart,
Yet eternally the light lives on.
Engrossed thoughts pervade,
A weakened soldier retreats,
I kneel and I quiver,
I am no longer whole.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.
Astral night,
Dismisses the pale twilight,
Its rightful place seized,
In an empyrean sky.
A saturated shade,
Befriending the tranquility,
The darkness brings.
Bold and brazen,
Like a reigning monarch,
Until the contrast,
Of the jovial dawn,
Infiltrates...
And until then,
Profound dominion,
Upon the ravishing dark.
Dusky yet enchanting,
Beneath trinket stars,
Brilliance and aura,
Unmatched.
(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.