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Ayana May 11
Luna! Luna, love
lost, eclipsed, tainted
like the human heart

bathe me – in twilit sparkles
marigold whispers among the
fiery ***** of silent spectators
clapping in magnesium flashes
as i watch from afar

You stare from synodic orbit
of floating reverie
sing to me through a cadenza
of abstract ecstasy
mellowed heart’s reflection
mirrored by the sea

O Luna, Luna love
why must you be so far
even with my hand reaching
you never hear
the invisible strums on my guitar
A tragic romance between a boy and the moon.
© Ayana (11/05/2020)
Ayana May 4
lathery waves splinter against the shore
in a choreographed, cadenced staccato
it silences the endless clamour
the clash of each turned asunder
caught in a world of superficial glamour

in the emollient, rosemary morn’s glow
pregnant with prickly pear scents
sun-kissed sand sparkles a godly gold
the open-air haven
birthplace of harpies, cyclopes, chaos akin
where every wave harbours –
a tale untold.

the surface of the sea can never
explain its darkling depths
with the shriek of each wave
another secret is taken to its grave.

whispers of abyssal serenity
with its atmosphere of ***** arousal
welcoming weary travellers to its womb
this ocean-side serendipity offers calm breaths
for naïve children to find rest.

i wonder what unshed stories they hold
whether such conundrums will lay untold
i sit and taste the salt of the sea
wondering of the secrets
i yearn for them to tell me.
The essence of waves.
Ayana May 1
I wonder when I die
how érebos will swallow
the intense cavity of lies
how the numbness will follow
and suffice
my need ‘n my void

Laid upon the twilit tiles
I fantasise
of the time I die
will everyone wear black then?
when they find the –
pink-triangle-d peculiar
asleep in the rusted tub
with a tear-stained face
red-lighting bolts in
her sunken eyes
scars on her flaked skin
no one ever noticed.

Will the world forget laughter?
will tears flow as rivers run?
will people scream like thunder?
or will I be forgotten
as the others souls
in limbo

Do I perish with fingers entwined
a few whispers of false goodwill
in my casket I will lay
fixed, flawless, perfect
a wax, plastic being
to weep upon
awaiting celestial magic
or Heaven
or Hell
or nothing
who knows how much this life weighs?

Ha! Never mind
this is only a reckless fantasy
a way to elude one’s own reality
© Ayana (01/05/2020)

— The End —