Poetry Blog by Alita Moore (2020)

Slits for eyes, 

Through dusk of dawn, 

And written down on tissue paper. 

 

Floral in briefcase, 

Drenched beneath cold willow, 

Tunes of merry metal. 

 

Wrapping in the circles, 

In which we cannot be, 

Merely a human being. 

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A pain in my side,
Mercy be by my night,
In willow high arches.

Perched on great orchards,
With legs that dangle,
An idea of my sight.

Sticks that step in forest path,
By the side of rocks forgotten,
The breeze is to awaken

another night,
another fright,
Another reminder I am broken.

The standing of a misled child,
By the edges of enchantment,
And the denial of your life be...

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The straight and narrow,

A dismal day,

Again the reversal of places.

 

It begins again,

A judgment day,

And the hands fell short of forgiveness.

 

Night thy dark,

I remember this thing,

Truth by the edge of deadly.

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I know the world,
Through and out,
Looking at the fucking door.

The hanging paper,
blue and yellow,
Left ashes on the dying daughter.

A drenched up sailor,
A timeless flower,
I stood by wood and watched it fire.

The whispered classroom,
My mind in wander,
I was given to the stranger.

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The gallery,

A spell bound man,

Toes to toes besides a shadowed overlay.

 

Criss cross patterns streak an open portrait,

By the ends of the stream,

And stood in the aisle.

 

Painting another picture,

Reflections of dreams,

Just like me.

 

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