Springtime Decay

The pastel petals gliding from your thick branches

filled with blushing flowers and rare greens

remind me of the ashes of a dying bonfire

drifting aimlessly in the wind to oblivion.

 

The beauty in the struggle of your branches is almost enough to make me forget my own.

 

Forget the termites that drilled a hole on my left-centre

slipping through the bars of my ribcage

but making sure to leave nests

that drain me of phloem for their nutrition…

 

Until I’m nothing but a cadaver

Until I am abandoned for something living.

The Everest

After days of climbing, with the sharp breeze caressing my face like the hands of a dying lover, I reach the top. At the highest point of humanity, I’ve never felt so low, insignificant. Here a top of this ice sculpture I realise that if I froze right now I would be nothing but another rock, adding one more layer to something bigger.

Image: GOOGLE

Soon Enough

Soon enough

the thick brown branches

will be hidden by flowers

and everyone will exclaim how beautiful they are.

 

Soon enough

the few dry patches of grass

will become greener

and everyone will want to crush the shards.

 

Soon enough

these surroundings will produce their music

a soundtrack of laughter

and only now it will be an object of desire.

 

But a few months ago

when the only music was one of death and silence

and the days were grey and short

this place laid abandoned.

 

And no one noticed how beautiful it was.

Chess

Check.

You’ve planned everything.

Check.

Moving through the checkered bits

you took away everything I once was.

Check.

You’ve dismantled my walls,

Check.

blew out my defenses.

Check.

You were the Knight leaping through my broken pieces

landing on top of my very own essence

in a board-shattering

Checkmate.

©Maria Omena

Metastasis

When I was younger I thought love was connected to a heartbeat.
I didn’t know that cells died every second
and those that didn’t love me could spread like cancer.
Murdering those that did,
Making me nothing but a memory.

Through the Lens

I wonder if the water drops staining my lenses are from sorrow or from the cold storm I threw myself under just to numb your touch.

Progression

Her eyes were wide open
searching for that spark
she named love at first sight;

Promoted by hormonal variation,
mood and attraction.
Actually, it was but an inbred reaction
that shook her
core,
bones,
navel.

and made her
sigh deeply,
relax notoriously,
f
a
l
l
astronomically

Though like in a ripped rope
the connection was cut.
She realised that right from the start
her eyes were in fact tightly shut.