LIAISON

PHOTO BY PIXABAY
Cupid flew over my house last night,
That winged silhouette was you...
Your playful chuckle echoed in,
The dead of night.
Arrows harmonized,
Like a golden wind chime.
My rattling window was no match,
For that glorious sound.
Discreet you were not,
Overflown with passionate thoughts.
Perspiration trickles,
'Neath  the glacial stars.
I crave a touch that is tender...
Stumbled upon,
A whirlwind of emotions,
A slave at their beckon call.
You mischievous maker!
It just had to be you.
Who else owns a potent,
So strong?
Who? 💘💘💘

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.

CLOAK OF JUDAS

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

Worn cloth albeit of beads and sequins,

Woven and interlaced of a distinct textile.

Custom made for the vile creature,

Who dons an impostrous smile,

In hope that the fox will cry.

Leads his flock to an arid desert,

Fruitless and impoverished,

Where lioness grow manes.

They walk the beat.

Only lull speaks volumes.

River stream a horizon’s touch away,

These parched lips quiver.

Vinegar is the taste,

Just before it all vanishes.

Is this a mirage gone awry?

Do you add insult to my confusion?

No stench of ignorance here,

This is not bliss!

Walking this cracked surface,

Naked in truth and integrity,

And you stride alongside,

Clothed in deceit and dishonesty,

I visualize ending this,

Antagonizing relay race.

The baton shall fall.

You see…

Forthrightness always creeps in,

Like an innocent child,

Waiting anxiously to be held.

No revelation to my enemies,

Will be made.

You are never to kiss this cheek.

Despair has left a scar upon my back,

A colossal pillar of strength,

Materializes within me.

Samson you are not.

Weakness becomes you,

And withering is imminent.

Impending arrests are for naught,

The army has retired.

Bare will be the palm of your hands,

For there are no pieces of silver,

To collect.

(c) Monica St Hillaire, 2021.

SANCTUM

PHOTO BY PIXABAY

There is that space,

Between dream and reality,

Where you get to float.

Soar without ceasing,

Weight not in existence,

And timeless is the glow.

Free of mystery,

Unbound to burdens.

To shun,

The abyss of the night;

The labyrinth of the day…

Let not your,

Inner being thirst.

Seize your haven!

Your realm is real.

Yes…

Between the charcoal dusk,

And the ember dawn,

Embrace your moment.

However miniscule,

It is where,

Euphoria thrives.

(c) Monica St Hillaire.