Sirens lullaby
By
Serena Mossgraves
Blood in the street,
youth for the reaper to greet.
regrets pour from the end
of the gun like just another rainstorm .
Perhaps the community is so used
to playing the game,
oh well that's just fireworks again...
and the reaper's approach
will go unnoticed.
Or the sirens will be the lullaby
the infants remember
because of how oft they have
heard them .
What the Dead Know
By
Serena Mossgraves
Regrets add weight
To the soul,
Leaving knowledge
Of what life has been
Stripped away
From all that was
Worthwhile.
Instead of fighting with
What the Dead know,
The living should be
Thinking about how
To live instead.
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?
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.
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?
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.
Grief
By
Serena Mossgraves
Wallowing,
in the darkness
allowing the weight
to hold you down…
Perchance it is death
in the moment,
only you have forgotten
how to drown?
when even the breath
is more than you know
how to release,
How is it possible to
find peace in grief?
I have updates.
First… I did the annual poetry marathon this past weekend. I signed up for the half marathon and I wrote more than I signed up to do. I was rather pleased with that.
Next, Fae corps publishing is in the process of creating – taking on? – an imprint. I don’t have a whole lot I can tell you about it yet… But it’s actually really close to being a thing.
Next, I was invited to try to write a story (Serena) that is for a really interesting anthology. That doesn’t mean that they are going to accept the story. Just that I am allowed to try for the call. It is entirely out of my normal wheelhouse writing wise. I have until November to write it and I have it halfway done. It has been flowing. I am terrified. But I am writing it anyway.
And the last update for the post is that I do realize that I accidentally scheduled the Tuesday Tunes post last week for the wrong time. It went up at six pm instead of six am. I am grateful for your patience. I will try to be more careful this week.
Loneliness
By
Serena Mossgraves
Soylent green is people
And I have always been color blind.
What does it matter to me
If I am but the last one
Left behind?
People on whole are a cruel
And ignorant lot,
And I prefer loneliness.
For loneliness is dangerous
You can learn to love yourself there.
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.
Pattimouse 