Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
 Dec 2024 Daniel Tucker
Nemusa
Bouquet of regret,
Petals wilt with each footstep,
Vows fade in the breeze.
 Dec 2024 Daniel Tucker
Nemusa
he presses (deliberate) each button,
soft as a whisper, sharp as a pin,
a smile that cuts, (the blade of him)
& she, unravels / unspools /
into noise.

you always, he says.
you never, he sighs.
his words,
a clever parade,
a firework bloom
of gaslighted skies.

her patience,
a thread—pulled taut, then frayed,
then gone.
and when she speaks (oh, the daring of it),
he shapes her syllables into storms,
ties her anger to the wind—
“see how you are?”
he grins.

she becomes the thunder (his storm, his proof).
her breath, a chaos of no escape,
her voice,
a house he burned down
but still blames
her for the flame.

until she folds her wings
into the cage he built—
silent. quiet. small.
not for lack of fight
but for lack of air.

and still,
his lies bloom sharp (oh, his garden of blame).
his hands, gentle knives,
carve her into someone she doesn’t know.
& he names her crazy,
wraps her in words like straightjackets
until she forgets
her name.

but even now,
her silence waits,
a seed beneath the ash.
her roots will remember—
one day,
she will grow back.
Can't sleep again tonight, so upset by memories of what he'd done to me.
 Dec 2024 Daniel Tucker
Nemusa
They run,
through streets that scream of bomb smoke and shattered bone,
their shadows swallowed by the black of hijabs,
a mother swaddles her babe, her heartbeat louder than the guns.

Blood whispers its story
on trembling hands—whose hands?
Hers, his, the boy too small to carry grief,
but already has it, pressed like a kiss on his brow.

How long?
How long before the dream of faces turns to ash?
Before names become nothing more than echoes
sung to the fleeing, like lullabies of loss?

The gun is no longer an object;
it is an extension of them, fused to flesh,
its weight the weight of survival,
its promise another lie whispered to the children.

They run,
but the streets do not let go.
The ruins hold their breath,
cradle them in decay,
and ask, "How much longer?"

The answer—
silent, like the graves they leave behind.
Permanent are
The memories trapped in a scar
And though a few might fade,
It'd be quicker to count every star
At times I don't notice them
Other times they're another prison bar
Attempts to hide them are made
But mummification seems a step too far
In my day to day they are
All I can see,
Haunting my reality
They've stolen the getaway car
And I'll not make it far
In this mangled avatar

©2024
 Dec 2024 Daniel Tucker
Valentine
goldfinches and chickadees
cinched on branches
chirping up the trees
do they sing this song for themselves
to feel at ease
or is it to be heard
for the betterment of humanity

when I write in the dead of night
what is it for?
I provide calm after you rile the storm,
You stir the hornets, while I fight the swarm

You curse the darkness - I kindle the flame,
And should you stumble,  you say I'm to blame

A song sung by two must have harmony,                                                  
But you think my songs are always off-key;

Try as I may to meet your every need,
No feast I prepare can appease your greed

How can we survive rough seas and fierce gales
In a boat with split masts and tattered sails?

Well, change is coming, and I'll not pretend
That I'm sad to see this fiasco end

And I see glory in the coming days --
A new horizon is flaunting  its rays;

This game is over,  I'll not be the pawn.
You are insufferable  . . .  and I am gone!
Next page