Chains rattle and bang,
dragging across my brain.

The doors creak, scratches across
the floor.

Emptiness is vast, a void creepy
and sad.

Ghosts linger here, memories of
lives passed.

They breathe decay, rust and rot.

A plume of smoke from a flame
smothered by time.

I am rooted in your deceit,
a rose with thorns.

I dream of being me, while my dreams
dream of being unique.

It is a dream within a dream,
do we ever truly wake?

A thought passes like a breath gasps
for a moment in time.

A passing phrase on a poetic gaze,
upon a heavenly sky the stars
shine and we fly.

My poetic mind opens wide,
behind my sleeping eyes lies
a feasting idea that eats prose
and verses.

Baking plots and cooking possibilities,
within my mind’s oven. I serve you my
poetic design.

©️ 2023 By Amanda Shelton

~
Optimize
Arborize
Centralize
Personalize
Give recognition its own library
Its own USB port

An evening of multiple connections
Hardwired and soothingly modem
Transmits my thoughts into you

I know your voice
I know your body
And how they work together
To leave a clear network to my heart
~

~
lost library books
and broken lunchbox thermos,
her childhood under a forgotten
leaf on a pond.
she's attracted to the sound
of the breeze through her hair,
inner-city birds recommending
she listen with her head underwater,
to experience it as a fish might.
this is inescapable.

blood roses in the snow,
her unemployed martyred
fingers in the factory.
the manufactured years go by
at a price too great to recover from.
for every flash of beauty,
there is a hint of anger; a dash of violence.
this is inescapable.

her sleep-flower recital
in a dew-swathed spring morning hospital,
some kind of faraway pink funeral for
dead trees and traffic lights.
treasure impaired clouds capture
an isolated moment in time.
perhaps several moments.
perhaps several parts of the same moment.
this is inescapable.
~