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Maria Jul 2
The sun once rose to bless our mornings
By the pond and olive grove
Breakfast cooked to feed the masses
Boiling over on the stove
And on the grapevine there did grow
Amethyst clusters, picked in light
Heavy gems that hung so low
I stood to marvel at the sight

And in the noon,
The earth would swell
With jasmines scented sweet as honey
And of troubles, one could tell
But never were they quite too many
Birds would open their beaks to chirp
Without much compelling reason
For in the open countryside
It was grape picking season

Or, at least, it was supposed to be
Yet for some reason, unannounced to me,
This year, the grapes, they will not grow.

In that moment, They said to us,
As though it were the word of God
Through biting mouths lined with silver:
“You reap whatever it is you sow”,
But the vine still hangs wilted and yellow
And the grapes are shriveled
And will not grow
Maria Jul 2
The sun seemed in distress this morning,
With burdens it could not express this morning.

The fields are black and burned by dawn
As dove’s wings melt and regress this morning.

The Earth has paused in its rotation,
Though none shall truly confess this morning.

Where have you gone my love, oh where?
I search for you nevertheless this morning.

A love I no longer possess this morning
Has returned- the last time- to bless this morning.
Maria Jul 2
"Do you remember me?"

"Yeah."

"It's been a while."

"Yeah, it has"

I met him again. I told myself that this would happen, and yet I chose to live as if it never would. I chose to forget you.

You are my destiny, and I cannot ignore it any longer.

"Goodb- well, actually, we'll probably meet again someday."

"We just keep running into each other."

"Yeah, funny how that happens."

"Call me when you're in the area?"

"I won't."

"Fine by me."
Maria Jun 2021
What have we become, as the years have drawn on
At the hands of ourselves and our fate
Unmoving in the pillars we rested our lives upon
What have we become

Convincing ourselves we were but a moment too late
Biding time ‘till we could fly on the wings of a swan
As our minds rotted at an ever-quickening rate

Dismissing our stumble as an unlikely phenomenon
Our thundering heartbeats left to reverberate
The mirage of our advance now shattered and gone
What have we become
I tried to write something with a more defined structure, let me know if you have any suggestions. It's been a strange week with some mixed news, so I feel like I'm starting over again. I hope this poem got that message across, I hate it when structure comes at the expense of the meaning. Anyhow, hope everyone is doing well :)
Maria May 2021
"It's not that bad,
I tastes good, I swear"
It was cold, and bitter, and vile
Yet I still ordered it
Every
Single
Time
Like a magical elixr
Of momentary freedom
From the wires of guilt
Welded into my neural pathways
Just enough-
To not cause suspicion
But not so much
That I'd collapse
Strong enough
To make me jittery,
Anxious, nauseated,
But still incomparable
To the unspeakable sin
Of sustenance,
So when I saw stars standing up,
Or buckled over at the knees,
And wondered why
It was even worth it?
I'd come to the same conclusion
Every
Single
Time
And it was this:
It doesn't matter anyways
Because I'll never
Be able
To stop.
Haven't had an iced americano in three months, if that means something to someone ;) Moral of the story: life's too short to not drink oatmilk lattes.
  May 2021 Maria
Nobody
Sometimes inspiration is free
Other-times it costs you the world
In our abandon we seek
Divinity, eternity
And often the meaning
Of our words
Eludes even us
Are we an author?
A seeker?
A valiant warrior
Braving the darkness
Seeking for such elusiveness
It sets the mind free
Within that darkness
Lies the eternal
A place without form
A castle, a dungeon
And for the unwise
A prison without end
And only those
Well acquainted
With their own madness
May tread its murky waters
To pluck that fruit
Whose shape is an omnipresent
Kaleidoscope of meanings
And to solidify its form
And cast it onto sprawling page
This is our work
Our bottomless pit
Our greatest weakness
And our ultimate triumph.

-----

Reformatted version:

Sometimes inspiration is free
other-times it costs you the world
In our abandon we seek
Divinity, eternity
And often the meaning of our words
eludes even us
Are we an author?
A seeker?
A valiant warrior braving the darkness
seeking for such elusiveness
It sets the mind free
within that darkness lies the eternal
a place without form
a castle, a dungeon
and for the unwise, a prison without end
And only those well acquainted
with their own madness
may tread its murky waters
To pluck that fruit
whose shape is an omnipresent kaleidoscope of meanings
and to solidify its form
and cast it onto sprawling page
This is our work
our bottomless pit
our greatest weakness
and our ultimate triumph.
Maria May 2021
Soft rains drift on winds of change
Pitter-patter on my window pane
Enchanting the Earth with life renewed
By playing an old, nostalgic tune
That brings back melodies
The years had erased
Immersing me in
Your forgotten embrace
And for a moment,
My darling,
I see your delicate gleam
Rising from the asphalt
In small bouts of steam
Dancing along the empty lane
Tormenting me in my lonely disdain
For I know
Our separation will be long
But until we meet once more:
Soft rains drift on winds of change
Pitter-patter on my window pane
Playing you my love song.
Can you hear it,
My darling?
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