Ashen Pages

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Literary Lover
  • Roman Pursuit

    Roman Pursuit

    Daggers in full swing, carving love letters to enemies

    Grandiose schemes could end deaths beholden to me

    Shaking tremors with pendulum Greek : Valor stained

    Could we possibly see, when the horrors are neigh?

    Here I am, All Roman, no fear in my eyes

    Daggers stay sharp, kneaded tight in the womb

    Dear mothers watch closely, as their sons summon

    Flaming fires, Covered in ballastic armor

    Caesar storms into battle with intentions

    To harm — Loveless screams stretch for miles

    Cowardice stench to the hunt of one’s own,

    Phallic vandals pursuit, seizing isles made of stones

    Each tumultuous turn brings us all to our knees

    How could you : Malady enticement

    In ailment, Romans, come and go as you please

    The Empire falls, it bursts at the seams

    Knives and Daggers no longer hold prestige

    Inception of Kings, wealthy monarchs that Spring

    Each flick of an eye turns a wage into war. Quick paced into

    Pain. Horrors tanked with remorse

    The sun spears above, all the while Romans bleed

    Through our hearts : Bells ringing in unison

    Collapsed in pursuit of Godlike memorials, buried in hot sand

    Hands positioned to pray, hoping we are not

    Simply, lead astray. Each striking sound,

    Precious souls to wither in tandem,

    Armor shrunken deceased to unveil the Divine

    For Romans, grasping air : I hear the ringing

    It never stops.

  • Tender Orchid

    Tender Orchid

    Embroidered rosaries with messages in each pearl, the murmur of chords make my lips curl.

    There’s a frenzy in each twist and turn, I open my eyes and behold : My Greek god in true form.

    A gondola swings in fours, tastefully sweet with sweat of gold.

    I hear the wind as it blows to a sequined skirt that slips tight on my waist.

    A petite untied orchid, she blossomed with no fear — In majestic arrears, rain drops scintillating

    Hues of seagrass blues. Dreaming in the pacific, praying into the Ether.

    I have wings that spread wide and surround, cerulean blue in jaded emeralds.

    O, please my Greek god, come close and remind me to sleep.

    His shears tint and sharp like a stab to the core. Smearing sunnies and tennis in netted courts,

    I swing and I miss : Tenderloins in my bones.

    My God, he welcomes me with open arms : Kiss me.

  • Simply Dreams

    Simply Dreams

    When I was a little girl, I imagined a world that was outside of me. I prayed for doll houses that were out of reach and paints that were not on sale. The windows remained open, wind blowing in my face, grass so green I was debilitated in my screams. I think about the dreams that I had: Architect, Interior Designer, Painter. These were simple dreams, the kind that were not realistic for a girl like me. I wanted so much from a world that remained undiscovered. The clouds thundered and it rained, so loud and wet in terror, reminding me that the grass would not be greener on the other side. But still, I dreamt.

    Time passes and the world does not stop. It spins and spins, with turmoil and sink — mahogany dressers and tainted sheets, each door with oily hinges that opens and closes. That little girl, she’s there with her little pink dress and slippers, her hair is long and wavy, with spunk and pressured trinkets. A vase is placed on a side table to the left, with glass and peonies that stink of Spring. She smells them and winces, these petals in seance. The world does not forgive those who remain in a trance.

    Shattered in pieces and dragged in milestones, I carry the dreams that could have been real. Books, letters, the words are all gruesome. Each time I remember, chartreuse leaves dissipate in a mangled garden. A tooth lost behind a door and a bee sting relieve, the sun beats down brightly – Frantically bitten to Earth’s sharp edge. Grumbling stars as they soar high above, that little girl smiles as if she has no other choice. Indeed, she is bright and God knows that. He lifts her up high and carries her over the trees. These trees are so high she forgets that they’re real. Harmonic smiles brings the angles in circular teams, the hymns are so deep that she freezes and falls asleep.

    The slumber, it burns, like the dreams that she kept. Tucked in deep inside, rapid eyes in movement to bring her to heaven. The flowers are dry with collected reprieve, grasping for air as she drowns them in wheat. Please, bring me the angels and the Gods, and the streams. In favoring light, preferring high beams that stretched all across the land. Little girls are one of a kind, pure in heart and in dance. Perchance, they can sing and bring about the good futures. That’s the only hope for a girl that has grown.