Trading with the fae
By
Patricia Harris
They told me
They could take my pain
And steal it away.
Trading with the fae
Is worse than
Dealing with the devil
Any day.
The promises made
Are sweeter than sugar,
And the result is naught
But disappointment.
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.
Caustic
By
Patricia Harris
The words that drip from your tongue
burn deeply into the soul,
Caustic like the acid,
Perhaps I am lost in a fog
of the brain melted by what you had to say…
I stand here broken,
wondering if I have made
many the wrong choice,
Walking through the acid rain…
for someone who will never see
the damage inflicted.
For the one who will always
cause me pain.
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.
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.
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.
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 