I can’t be bright, I can’t be calm, I want to write darkness into their arms, the lovers’ capacity are shadowed in depth, their fates, true strengths will be met. In the witching hour their magic’s so bright, Moon sprays light into their night and the raven caws deep rumble, sharp, hard, one would never know if the moon threw or broke the bewitching stars.
The lovers entwine in depths of night now, needing solace in their minds filled with sadness and sorrow, are they caressing the wrong one, tales wrought, takes to be undone, and powerful are whispers under breath, grails to be found or hopefully won.
(c) 2022 Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose. All rights reserved.
My dearest heart I am falling apart I turn and burn, my soul is engulfed by the wandering cruel actions, my soul, it speaks, it shrieks, my spirit rises forth
away from the gloom I fall apart floating, into pieces, ashes fly high and away, my darling heart watch me as I fall apart, my soul is destroyed.
I wanted this but I am not of sound mind, the intricacies which arise when one splits pieces which are meant to remain whole, alive, spectacular though this is, like a fireworks display I watch my chakras break into shattered wheels of light brightening the sights for someone else who wishes to view a colourful plight.
Shall I dance away the pain, dear lover? Forgetting that my happiness, my heart and its feelings do not bother, how far shall I go to be truly loved? Not by another but by myself, to stop this nonsense cremation I first need to extract my inner poison.
But it is long gone, I’ve sucked it clean from my veins, watch me, watch me work at this prospect, lest we find the pathway leads to a garden’s winding path, I explore it in vain.
I wait, I await the next move, next breath, whispered words my way. I awaken to the heat of the sun upon my chest, arching toward a grinning face, expressing his thoughts in pairs, triplets, like slices of opal they are luminescent, glorified, surrounded by greys, rather like the view of some of my recent past lives; rainbow flashes, encased by moody, dark dismay.
I look within and ask myself, do I possess a devilish factor that screams for an entity, for one to become mine, true epiphany? Speaking from the outset, I realise I am mostly an anomaly, in terms of depth and darkness; I can persuade my shadow self to grow and escape with me. Gently, I call it forth.
The darkness rises and light recedes, a training path, a captain’s need, and wondering about the truth of the open palms, read them, read them, don’t use them to disarm, please! Only tell me my path, Teller, the path which I do seek, and the rest, well, the rest, take it away, deplete! I need no bad news, neither do I need an understanding of coming undone, I have already been there, and to take that path again, no, I shan’t further join with darkness as one.
But my ‘darkness’ is a purer sort, it comes from a good, rich place, I do not wish to harm anyone, I am powerful, I am shade, I am depth; I know which parts I need to resurrect. There is always be an ‘evil’ side to every soul, if it is cajoled out, and there is a dark side that is safe to rise forth and know, and there is the light, the light source that begs everyone to touch, see, the miraculous nature of human nature, positivity. But we, and myself cannot exist without shadow, without shade, it’s a contrast to make the light shine bright, and without the depth how could we appreciate the true soul, which is darkness and light, together, conjoined as we should know.
It’s time to explore the power within, both brightness and depth, and watch each other grow. For those whom are willing, those whom are able to seek this chance, the path sought will be interesting, soul-searching, perhaps spirit bending or destroying, but always at the end, growth, and inflation of the mind’s abilities, understanding of one’s eases and difficulties, why, these are what should matter, in the grand scheme of things. Self-exploration, a great factor indeed, dare I say an essential need?
it’s time to change, to embrace love and life, there is nothing I would erase; each moment and breath a welcome moment or an opportunity to learn to grow and accept the phase. Time and time again I found myself on the plane of existence wondering when would Life listen, with her pinpricked ears would she discern my truest desires? Or would she smile fortuitously upon the request of others while piece by piece, brick by brick my own home laid unfinished, nowhere have I to place my handbag down, expected to be lingering already at home? We don’t even have a home, none with a shared hearth, with warmth, with comfort. Essentially, my love for you is meant to be a mistake, a princess fetched from her turret, tethered as, as of late. The magpie flaps and soars, joins the eucalypt leaves in a shading spot He, you, really are a protector, but now learn your skills, hone them further, Princess can be by herself for now.
The universal white light surrounds me, an ethereal net, damp, floaty cloud so soft I bounce into, not against it… freeform, flow, billowy nature’s growth, it is like an extra being within the room, some giant, invisible, quietly huffing and puffing, he smiles as he cloaks my aura, now no longer a sunny yellow disposition, but made into a vagrant’s imposition…
I am now unwelcome in this land, my journey blocked pathways, no obvious pillowed dreams.
I silently make my wishes known, my love must be acknowledged, for the other, feelings owned, the waves within my mind and being speak of delicate imperfection. We wrangle in motion, arms flailing, tongues lashing, and I realise, without an understanding, what on earth has happened, I am seen only as a bother that must be cleanly slid away, beneath the rug, swept under, and this giant ghost of an aura which surrounds me now was employed by the best of them, a master in charge, something, someone from on high.
I cannot determine his leader though, the degenerative nature still swims in his intent, and I know I must rid myself of this vagrant label before I become too spent. Enough of these games, I shrilly call to myself, and he, wherever his head and ears to register might be. A cloud of fluff is now not that exciting to see…
even when I’ve not everything I need all around I have all I need when I’m here the bare minimum does not contribute to any sense of gloom nor quaint snipey conversations within the room my face doesn’t grow tired or long because I am here and now and by my side is… you.
I know you’re tired of the same old love poems dedicated to you and I, perhaps things are about to change, perhaps we’ll move on, move forward, move forth, we are too good for dwelling upon the prior circumstance –
we will move forward.
no matter how long it takes, how many angsty bitter tunes and rhymes I won’t be like that today, at least, not this time,
I wander our memories, childhood, adulthood things as I clean with slow ease, wondering what to bin, what to keep, what to allow as designated for others,
and I realise how quickly time’s passed before my very eyes, and I contemplate what happened to the stars, the moon, oh the stars when my world was up in arms, I was angered, bitter, untidy, nasty, cruel to mankind, it wasn’t pretty, but it was only a spell, for a tiny moment in time, and recovery is poignant, it is turbulent, but it’s occurring, within hours. within minutes and seconds, darling.
And those who decide to stand by me, as friends, as warriors, as heroes, times three, many have been here in the making but only three remain somehow, maybe more, but they’ve no designated doors, not yet, anyhow.
I am watching and waiting for the complete revelation, about the words they will say and unravel tongues engorged like a tame good-willed Cerberus, I don’t know, not quite, what they can do, but I’m excited to see how the utterances will help me, assist me, my mindset, my confidence to entirely return.
Lovingly, achingly, away from me, I’ve made my childhood bed, and what about you, dear sir? Shall you rise from my head? A memory, a mere memory? No, shadowy darkness and smiles, spirits assured.
To bloom within means not unravelling oneself, not pulling apart the petals, but securing them to one’s own mooring, so she can be seen for who she truly is, and was and still is. Underneath all, she is full of goodness, despite the anger, the sadness, she has her own manner of charms. She has much love and charisma, but flowing over before the negative ascension and dramatic type of karma.
Please do not misconstrue the shades which line her face, the complexion yellowing, a life and lives once gone, seemingly gone to waste, no, focus instead upon the glory within her saddened eyes, the glimmer of blue hope and the way her orbs take in the electric scope as she struggles with mental health and achieving a disguise. There were so many underhanded comments among her visit an other world, when wishing for a life with more ease.
Reading and assessing her times, the pages lie quietly there with scribblings, handwritten notes, colour-coded, unknown is the manner in which she knows how to speak. Chaos be the matter, and chaos was at large. Largely within her mind, but certainly around her. around
But she will be permitted to Heaven’s door one day, and asked not to leave but to continue to fight all affray, so yes, you are correct, she has not bloomed yet again again today, yesterday, nor directly this and another forthcoming day, but by goodness is she learning to co-exist and reconnect, and given the complex circumstances of her illness, that’s a mighty lot to achieve and say, she just sometimes needs to Vent.
I scatter the ashes from dawn to dusk, breathe the fire raging within, overtaking much of my ire, and I glance all around, gather myself as I rooooaaaar that sound; I am calling, calling for something – I wait for an approach, ears pricked delicately for any tiny sounds. Then, bouncing and bounding are some terrible two, a pair of angry feline-like beings whom will not cease their stares, their venomous fangs they gnash and gnash my way… punishment? Although what ills have I performed? That’s not for me to say. I fend off the creatures, with their wild, wild stares and ferocious, swiping claws until they realise, I can well-word myself out of any situation, at least the concept is correct – with a peeling away, they retract with their intent so flawed.
In fact, I am as innocent as some wet leaf drifting down to Earth: heavy, soggy, but with a tiny bit of mirth expressed from I as I observe the less-than-buoyant thing, like him, my heart is heavy, but unlike him, I will make it, there is that certain journey. This leaf and I have something additional in common: we carry a heaviness and knowing that there once was no chance for ascension – or so it felt – because I gave into predilections, and that pathway I took, its consequences mattered not, for I was having fun, I would claim with bold insistence.
The rule books, out the window, there was no decorum to see, no adherence, no willingness to be righteous, less private, my business available to feel, view, breathe, until now I guuuust myself in the buoyancy of available air… Soggy, heavy? No! Nein, nein, nein, I will not recommence that fate, save that eventuation for someone else more worthy for Destiny’s cruel fate.
Lauren M. Hancock Poetry and Prose 
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