Hope 8h

Darkness drifts into the silence,
And with its touch, all life turns to dust.
Stitching pained eyes with invisible hands,
It reaches for a string of light;
But breaks it with its silent dream
as a shadowed ghost breathing in the night.
‘Whisper words with meanings deeper than they seem'
it murmurs, hushed like the melancholy final chord
of broken notes.
Suddenly, pain surrounds its broken soul,
Leaving nightmares trapped in the air
and igniting frozen hearts with love.
Darkness remembers,
and its numb parts are filled with life;
until tomorrow comes,
when they’ll return to pieces again.

A first draft

when in the world’s (supposedly) leading democracy
a new president starts his office with

     making life more expensive for average home owners
     signing orders threatening the health of millions
     restricting the publications of researchers
     denying global warming
     encouraging coal and oil companies
     forbidding federal employees to talk to the media
     going on fantasy trips about “alternative facts"
          to justify his ridiculous lies
     blaming the media when asking questions and checking facts
     barring leading media companies from press conferences
     waffling about his Russian connections
     refusing to release his tax returns
     ordering to build walls to keep out all those aliens,
          like the old Chinese did, to little avail
     issuing poorly formulated presidential orders
          causing confusion and harm and even deaths
     banning even green card holders from entering the country
     filling his cabinet with all the alligators from the swamps
          he promised to clean during his campaign
          people who know how to avoid paying taxes and beating the     system
          but have no clue how to govern now that they ARE the system
          and think they can run the USA with its 350 million citizens
          as Trump&Cronies;, USA, Inc.,
          like their private family businesses, for profit
fraternizing with kings and monarchs & wannabe sultans in the near east
     'democratic dictators' in the far southeast
      and wannabe czars in russia
but hesitating to confirm ties to old allies
     in Europe, NATO, and the Far East
suggesting that having undeclared secret meetings
     is quite OK for his campaign team members
     his son and son-in-law & cetera
nominating well-known union busters
    into the Federal Office of Labor
    and a billionairess widely unaware
    of the existence of non-private schools
    as Secretary of Eduction
banning grandparents. grandchildren
     as well as aunts and uncles
     of gratuitously selected contries
     from joining their families in the USA

[ctd. fron line 2...] THEN
it is high time to seriously ask
what concept
    if any
of democracy he has in mind

In view of ongoing developments, this poem is a work in progress and will be updated whenever significant "presidential orders" or some such become public.
aira d 4d

a ghost once spoke to me,
that early morning in January.
and she was not bloody and pale and white
she was beautiful
like fireworks on new year’s eve

she told me lies
and whispers spilled from her pink, pink lips
a thirsty man got drunk on this
but i did not fall asleep
even when he vomited on the pavement.

because my favorite color is pink,
and the sun and the skies will never be pink
even when all the poets sing of it,
it will not turn cotton candy love

it is not my sister's lip gloss.

ghosts lie and they never appear
in the mirror behind you.
and she will never be bloody and pale and white

she will be beautiful.
and her lips are pink,
her cheeks are pink

i keep her in my late December night,
when I am white and pale and bloody
i am drunk with her secrets
confessions of a ghost.

but i am not asleep.

Tala Jul 11

I am the flames Burning
Or so I thought
under the impression
I caused the fire

Little that I knew
I was the fuel to his

Seems that I meant more than I imagined ;)
Amber Jul 3

Whispers bounce around the room
One whisper after the next
Trapped between four walls for a lifetime

Whispers of things that have happened
Shameful things, that can only be spoken in hushed voices

Years pass and the whispers accumulate
like dirt in some old abandon home
One whisper atop another
Until it's too much

And all those small, quiet whispers
Have turned into loud shouts, screams
And pleas to be let out

But they can't be free'd
Because every hushed voice
Every thoughtless, shameful whisper
Would be let out with a scream for the world to hear

And some things are better left unheard
Some things are better left in the dark,
to bounce around through time
Where not a soul can hear.

Tandi, The Dare!!!
They all called her
For her life she lived
On the edge
With no fury, no weary

A façade she wore
A distraction it was

Tandi The Dare
Had been running all along from
That which she feared the most
From the truth,
Her Truth!!!.....

The End!


1 of the poems I have written this month for a 30 day poem challenge

Must my children suffer the wrath of my sins?
Must they carry the shame of my burdens from whence past

A parent's daily thoughts on their children
Sanny Jun 24

So much laughter, anger and secrets are hidden in my walls.
From a time that is no more.

I can still hear them sometimes, like a tape playing.
Taking me back in time.

So much love, anxiety and tears engraved in my pillow.
From a time that is no more.

I can still feel it sometimes, when I'm in a confused moment thinking you're right beside me.

So many smiles, hugs and stolen kisses my mirror has witnessed.
From a time that is no more.

I can still picture it sometimes, but the face staring back at me is filled with pain.
Swollen, from the tears that won't stop falling.

bhumi Jun 24

you look up at the sky, wishing you were a star

the stars shine down at you, wishing they were you

neither of you knew, that both your wishes had come true

the stars bleed through your cuts
Cynthia Ulloa Dec 2014

What would you do if I told you a secret?
One thing for sure, you will not forget it.

Our past won't always be embraced!

Copyright© Cynthia Ulloa
All rights reserved.
Next page