Hell
By
Serena Mossgraves
I read somewhere
That Hell was a place
Of fire and suffering,
I think not.
Hell is familiar,
That place you go
over and over again.
Hell is repetition,
and unending.
Hell is the moment
where the pain feels
the most like home.
Perhaps there might
be suffering,
but in the moment
would you see it so?
Or would you merely accept
that this is all you have
ever really known?
Singularity
By
Patricia Harris
Perhaps I am not the person
I thought I would be,
So like everyone else.
Perhaps I am but a
singularity,
a lost note
in a song sung
by the divine.
Flutter
By
Serena Mossgraves
The first sensation
Nearly too much,
So when the darkness comes,
Seeping across too warm skin…
Maybe it was enough to bring
The asylum doors open.
The crimson flower
Blooming into the abstract,
Making sure I doubt whether
It was even reality
Or just the flutter of
A dream.
He is not My friend
By
Patricia Harris
He said he was my buddy,
My brother, my bestie,
Anything to get me closer.
He wanted me to want more,
Wanted me hooked on
What he had in store.
He is not my friend,
He is the chills in the
Middle of the night,
He is not my friend,
He is the last minute
Need to fight.
He is not my friend,
He is my dealer.
Wave of Death
By
Serena Mossgraves
All things need oxygen.
The brain included.
Is life ended with the body,
Perhaps the most contested thought
The soul released when the body dies.
But what if we are still inside,
Starving for air and dying slowly?
Does the body work to survive,
And the wave of death
Is the release of the soul
From the house
The soul has built inside?
In wildflower fields
By
Patricia Harris
when you come traveling
through the fields of flowers
pick ones far from tame
and lose yourself…
For getting lost in
The fields of wildflower
Is a music to the mind
that allows you to leave
all of your stress and worry behind.
Dead Inside
By
Serena Mossgraves
The problem with life
Is expectations are so high
So much drama and the cost of pride.
It leaves everyone feeling
Like they might just be
Dead inside.
It drills holes in the soul
For emotion to crawl into
To hide.
Lost Notes
By
Patricia Harris
My voice used to sing
A tune of wonder and
The highest moments
Of love for life…
Somehow I have
Lost Notes in my song,
My beat is off and I
Fear that the song no longer
Hits the notes
I once was capable of.
Though a couple of the volumes had a vote each this one received the most over all of the platforms. So I am as of Tuesday afternoon at 430pm only five poems away from finishing Human Shaped Verse. I have no doubt that I will have it done within the next few days and starting on Lost Notes. The others will get written eventually. They will go back into the rotation for the next volume as I get finished. I usually pick five that feel right and present them to everyone as choices when I get within ten poems of completion of a volume. It is slightly random in that respect.
Behind the mirror
By
Patricia Harris
Could I be like Alice
Walking through the looking glass?
And if I did would it make my troubles
Bigger or would it make them small?
What is there that we cannot see
On the other side of the mirror
from me?
Though the idea calls to the
Adventurous part of my soul,
I remember the faery tales of old.
If you go uninvited to the places
Where they play,
A heavy price they may take.
Pattimouse 