Submit your work, meet writers and drop the ads. Become a member
Sara L Russell Dec 2015
Sara L Russell 5/12/2015*
-----------------------------------------------------------­-------

How can birds sing, if taken from the meadow?
Cloistered away in silent fear
envious of the boundless skies
Even her wings are held earthbound
defenceless is she, and silent as the grave.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿

What sun may rise for she who walks in shadow,
the blackness that makes her disappear
hidden away from prying eyes
Too fearful to make the smallest sound
accepting of pain, and living as a slave.

✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿ ✿
Harmony Nov 2015
Unveiling true identity
comes after much suffering
What is true
cannot but hide forever

The veil protects the lamb
From being caught off-guard
The veil of name,
place, fortune and fame.

The veil keeps identity hidden
Till the lamb is ready to bare
Bare it does, in due time
For the purpose is known
To the lamb of innocent care

unveiling true identity
comes after much suffering
What is true
cannot but hide forever

The veil protects the lamb
From being caught off-guard
The veil of name,
place, fortune and fame.
Dreams of Sepia Oct 2015
Occasionally as when viewed through a veil
life splits, refracting like light
your pupils taut in appraisal of
all the things you can't change
& all the things you can
you pour yourself another whiskey
& somewhere someone switches off the night
a lonesome rook lands on a Church roof
a poem is read out loud to no-one
a child presses a kiss on someone's cheek
you find yourself in these moments
or you think you do
& for the moment,
that's enough
Eyes of an owl, I observe
My stare intense, yet calm
I see through illusion, deceit
I see right through you
& know you instantly

I see your true self
Your weaknesses
Your strengths

I see in what you hide so dearly
But in the eyes of an owl
I lift the veil you have placed
It exposes you
Eyes of an owl, I have
CJ lebron Aug 2015
"I'm gonna light up this place and die a beautiful star" -pierce the veil
Silence Screamz Aug 2015
Losing myself in the veil of tears
Uncover me in proximity
11W poetry
I dreamed of going to a ball once, all in red and gold--like Settareh from the old tales.

Only, I had no pari to help me.

My veil was secondhand, my gown plain, and my anklets of paste and plating instead of diamonds and gold.

But there was this boy, you see.

Not a prince, not the captain of a ship or a faerie lord, not a warrior, a healer or a mage...just a boy.

And I had the barest will-o’-the-wisp’s hope that he would dance with me.
I wanted to go to the Browncoat Ball this year...
Alexandria Hope Jul 2015
This haze about me is permeating, it dances in and out of the ebbing waves. Not completely black, though the smokey wisps and shades of black lend the water enough to be so.
Boats rest docked, ever on the schedule of the tides, marked by the men waded out to them. Foot soldiers in shimmering, soft grey suits the color of dove, up to their knees soaked. There is a hooded figure on the dock, not a woman nor a man. They carry a long rowing oar like a staff and stand always upright, vigilant. Without bones to weary or skin to age, only a porcelain mask to face when the time comes.
It isn’t expensive to take the ferry here, not terribly, in any case.
Unlike so many fishing wharfs I’ve seen before, there is no unpleasant odor. It smells of wet wood and lilies, which is curious. There are flowers about, dying roses are continually pushed up to the beach, but those I cannot smell. The lilies I cannot see.
In the water there are small paper boats with a candle each, burning easy in the windless air. The men in the water dodge the wayward boats that have drifted too far, but none of them seem to fear catching fire.
My feet are bare on the hard packed clay beach, I could easily walk in among them, and I wonder if I should go out to help.
Through the distance and dark I can see they carry a heavy box upon their shoulders, it dips dangerously to one side as one man slips.
The hooded figure does not turn as they slip their burden into a waiting boat.

I want to go with it, to see what’s waiting beyond.
Just as if my thoughts are read, I hear a small voice beside me and startle.
They must not see me here, or I will surely be in danger. Only the hooded figure may know me, should I choose to pay.

“You cannot go,” speaks the voice. It is a young girl, russet hair pulled up in a ponytail, though much of it is soaked and sticking. There is a **** upon the side of her head, but that is to be expected.

My mouth twists at the corner in a down turn, my first instinct to rebuke her. My but I am curious, however. “Why don’t you?” I counter, not turning. Never turning.
You must not face those you meet at the docks, nor at crossroads.

She nods appropriately, also staring out at the men as they work the ropes securing the boat to the dock.

“I cannot wake, neither can I depart. I am waiting in the interim.” She broached, a little wistfully. Then with a further turn towards conversation, asks, “what do you suppose they are? Do you suppose they were once-”

“No,” I interject. “No I don’t suppose.” And she smartly shuts her mouth.

If I face her, I’ll know. I’ll look into her eyes and see the water rising and hear her screams and feel the burn of hospital lights. I cannot allow her to see me.

“You cannot go, you cannot wake. You cannot stay.” I wondered aloud. “Have you not the cost to pay?” At this, she almost turns. I slide my gaze further away before I hear her again.

“You are old, you’ve forgotten the true weight of the price.”

The boat is freed and its guide alights it soundlessly. The men turn back towards us to fetch their next charge as I unknowingly hold my breath.
This time the box is much smaller, light enough for one of them to hold in his arms. The other three form a procession up to another waiting boat.

I’ve been too caught up in watching to notice the terror on the girl’s face. There is not much assurance in this place, but here we are.
She doesn’t make any notion that she can hear me as I voice myself, albeit shallowly.

“It isn’t yours.” But it might be, for all I know. For when I finally turn my head at the silence,

She is gone.
SeyiEagle Jun 2015
you held it too Overdue.

do you have to wait for me, only to say "I LOVE YOU TOO"?

you just made it weightless.
let the feeling flow like you've not been hurt before
scar Jun 2015
I could show you such things as you never have seen
But I'd have to go back on my oath
An oath I never made, but which
Stuck with me, the most sacred of things
So sacrosanct that even to say the words of the oath itself
Would be to break it.
Rarely is holiness so raw
Yet when that place is found
When the moon descends
And the water rises
Something shifts: and the veil is slightly lifted
But only slightly, for
Personne ne peut enlever la voile d'Isis
Even if we know how
Especially if we know how
Yet sometimes, gods willing,
It thins itself slightly
But only slightly, and
We catch a glimpse of the way things really are:
The way things could be.
Next page