sofia
Maltese
I was born in Malta to a Maltese father and Swedish mother. For years, reading and writing have been more than a passion of mine, as I constantly thrive to use words as a means of creativity and expression. / / My focus is primarily on human emotion and thought, as I have always, by nature, taken the inconsiderable into consideration. / / I may tend to come across as slightly solemn at times, which is due to the fact that I delve so deep within that which I perceive and conclude as a result of my surroundings. / / I do not write for any commercial benefit, I never have and never will. I write for purely expressive reasons, and aim not to please, but to create music with the words that I use and manipulate, and cause any readers to stop all that they are doing, and consider the inconsiderable, for a moment. / / S.M
They walked along the paths, chanting.
Unaware of all else, chanting.
Their eyes caressed the hard worn soil.
Their breath it rose, unseen.
The arms of each lay by their sides.
Their hair danced upon their faces.
Hand in hand with the warm wind.
To their belief they pleased a god,
who to them was dear.
For tears fell from their eyes,
as they felt him draw near.
They heard his voice and mumbled on
They thought they had been saved.
But thou art but a sinner,
was what each heard instead.
And so they wept with every step,
and prayed forgiveness, please.
Yet never did they thus conclude,
that wretches they were not.
But this they never knew.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 3:15 PM UTC
There were words that were heard,
never to say a word,
you were not allowed to be moved.
Why do you say all that you
do, and want and wish?
Why are you still giving, all
the things that we do not
want you to say?
I am lying here, laying
on the road
of unrelated resolutions.
Unre-
movable passion to learn and need and desire
to crave all that has ever moved
between
stars and
moons.
Afar.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
There was a girl who sang of roses red and wine,
and warmth of lights that never
went out.
Darkness displeasing and feet unwilling,
she would not move her hands.
From the fire they enclosed.
Her eyes created oceans red
from lips the words danced,
a melody unknown.
Trust me take a sip,
and help me drink the ocean
dry,
and fly upon the light of day
beyond the stars
beyond
the parchment skin, within the sky.
A blossom in her hair
hung high,
and colour
in the world,
was nigh.
Apr 30, 2013
Apr 30, 2013 at 3:14 PM UTC
Be near me-stop.
Become the wind that shifts me.
Sing like the butterfly trapped in th' cage.
Torment the air with your presence and mind,
hold the sunlight close to your chest.
Keep breathing, keep walking
laugh, smile, shout, doubt, question
-but do not falter.
Gaze at the moon of which there is one.
The image you see has long passed.
Focus on eyes and mouth, crevice and vice-
focus on one, on the whole, on the truth.
The distance is key, irrelevant, far-
the silence is unbearable at best.
The motion you seek is the hardest of all
so delay all thought and rest.
Keep breathing, wanting, holding- smile
beyond the glare of the stars.
You swim through pools of wonder and strength
allow knowledge to lead you far-
far from the darkness and shade of the trees
that covet your beautiful soul.
Move to the sunlight, the colours, the truth,
leave darkness behind you-
see well.
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 12:57 PM UTC
She stands upon the rooftop
her thin young legs stand firm.
She gazes at the wanderers
her mind begins to learn.
Her soul feels truly lifted,
she is above them all.
She towers over figures
so far below, so small.
No one can see her watchful stare-
her power is immense.
She is but slight and feeble-
the air she breathes intense.
As she sits and watches-
silently, alive,
the sun begins to reach her
allowing her to thrive.
Not an eye can see her-
the beauty of her stance.
Or so she thinks as freedom urges,
urges her to dance.
He sits in warmth and splendour,
music dims his mind.
His eyes gradually linger-
loving, lively, kind.
His silence yet allows him
to notice that which most,
would gaze beyond, ignore, look past-
he perches as a ghost.
Her form reaches his pupils,
he cannot shift his gaze.
Her beauty mesmerises his mind
out of its slumbering haze.
She dances on the pebbles
entirely unseen-
Save for the eyes of him alone
so eager and so keen.
Her modesty is wonder-
she dances for the blind.
This goddess draped in silky black-
his mind begins to rise.
There is no person watching,
there are no eyes that see.
There is no life to cease her joy,
and thus she does not flee.
But there is one who overlooks,
there is a heart that falls
in love with her still movement-
in love with her- her all.
The music starts to fade and dim
Her chest begins to heave.
She spreads her wings- delicate, pure;
She spreads her wings and leaves.
And yet he sits, admires
to where she stood alone.
Unseen by those beneath her-
still as precious stone.
He rises very slowly,
he walks, he paces- moves.
His body feels uplifted,
bathed in shades of blue.
No one will ever see her
through eyes quite like his own;
As she sits, so small and silent
upon her heightened thrown.
He will forever love her-
this creature full of grace.
She danced for him and him alone-
she left without a trace.
May 1, 2011
May 1, 2011 at 12:55 PM UTC
She has a dying wish to see
the laughter she once knew,
to spring from the weak child's young face
before her spirit flew.
The squalid breath that mutters now
three words into the night-
Where are you? says the wispy form,
unheard, untouched by sight.
The Night engulfs her wanly stance
her face is sallow, worn-
the hands that once held love and warmth
are now rigid and torn.
The creased, unearthly sheet of skin
that is her only shawl,
proves to wither in the Wind's
most heartless, cruel drawl.
And yet she stands beneath the Moon,
so pale, solely alone-
and waits for her young flesh and blood
to make its way back home.
But the young spirit never speaks,
Death caught it long ago-
and yet the lady stands and waits,
refusing, weeping, No.
With one last wish she gazes forth
into the darkened sky,
and asks the heavens that are not
again, once more, a try
As she has but her dying wish
that granted, cannot be,
and thus she lays upon the soil
never again to flee.
And there she lies amidst the roots
of Trees that sheltered not,
never again to stand and try
or know how why or what.
Oct 28, 2010
Oct 28, 2010 at 2:59 PM UTC
To hide behind a solid barrier,
to fade into the shadows.
To seek the comfort of the covers,
to crawl through comforting meadows
of stability and repetition-
possessing, overpowering.
A dictator of Life's daily manner-
frightening and towering.
An endless gasp for liberation,
freedom from the rusty shackles-
worn are they from endless grappling,
heartless mirth and hearty cackles.
The words that cluster in the throat
when fear is puppeteer-
the doll that finds no choice at all
but to appease the commandeer
and fade into the dark, ashamed,
of wretched weakening fear.
When will the shackles fall away
their screams,deafening, subside-
the shadows black, so dim, dissolve
and leave no place to hide?
Dictatorship of every move
and word and step and sound,
when will the final song be sang
of Liberty unbound?
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 1:50 PM UTC
With a whisper and whine they muttered their speech,
with a glare they constantly watched.
With a menacing shout they made all aware,
of that which they wished to make out.
With an egotistic air they pushed all aside-
in their minds, as their self-righteousness, obliged.
With a fistful of wrath they intended to finally
**** strike and shatter -why?
Were they even aware of the harm they would cause,
did they ever consider the pain?
The fact that the spirit would diminish and fall,
through the void that defined it so well?
For the sake of themselves, no they did not,
or was this their intention so fair?
Was this their main, fruitless, harsh aim?
Was this the sad truth, all in vain?
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 8:04 AM UTC
Follow me along the paths
And roads of distant run.
The winding trails- long and steep,
For miles of aimless fun.
The End is nowhere near enough
To fathom, Now or Then.
So dance along, young innocent child,
And care not How or When.
For I shall lead you into pools
Of gay and shimmering light.
And you will bathe and drink and sleep,
And drown in pure delight.
And you shall live just like a king,
A beggar too- a slave.
Why is this? - Pray don't ask at all,
Take shelter in the cave.
In shadows deep you'll wonder well,
You'll question and you'll fall.
But rise you shall and carry on,
And fail not once at all.
The earth shall prove to aid your quest,
The waters- quench your thirst.
The birds with their sweet songs of yore,
Shall drown out all the worst.
So follow me, young innocent child
As we move on- mile after mile.
The end is nowhere near for Now,
But dance on all the while.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 8:01 AM UTC
He sits in his usual tattered chair,
room.
He holds a handbag on his frail lap.
The bag is aged and worn, torn-
the seams are undone.
The bag is shut, a dusty gold clasp.
He caresses the sides of the bag-
loss.
His hands have seen many a year,
the bag has too.
The aged hands glow- white- in the murky room.
So do his eyes.
His eyes stare at the bag.
His back is straight,
he is alone in the room.
He sits, in solitude-
the lights are off.
The bag smells of musk,
there's a small mirror inside.
The mirror is broken-
cracked right through the middle.
Seven years, bad luck.
The mirror is closed,
and has been for days, years, months, hours.
Ever since it was last opened-
used.
A tear falls onto the clasp of the bag,
and marks it, wets the dust.
He can still smell her perfume in the air.
Oct 27, 2010
Oct 27, 2010 at 7:58 AM UTC