Poems
by Ann Christine Tabaka
A New Day Dawns
A sleepy morning yawns,
stretching its arms across
the land. Moving into the
light, reaching for dawn,
at last burdens fall away.
Gingerly stepping over
the crumbled dreams of
yesterday tossed on the
floor. Burnt offerings cast
upon the sea, I make my
way through another door.
The day advances slowly,
with hope on its wing. A
single thought buoys me
and strengthens my reserve.
That with every sunrise,
another chance dawns anew.
A Storm is at Hand
Her words were like a dark cloud,
blocking out the sun,
low hanging and ominous,
overpowering the day.
The grayness followed her
waiting for the storm to arrive.
The stillness was so thick
it was oppressive,
The silence was deafening.
Birds blackened the sky
with their escape route,
plucked feathers falling like rain.
Flowers withering under the weight.
Anguished faces turning upward,
as stale breadcrumbs
spill from their mouths.
Self-doubt creeping in,
as more clouds gather.
The sky is now black.
There is no place to run,
the storm is at hand.
Dying Embers
We dont make love any more,
nor greet each other at the door.
Years laid rusty, corroded dreams.
Age deals romance a mortal blow.
Time can be so cruel,
draining life from lives.
A thief that robs passion,
erasing it from the slate.
Whispered words of love,
now left at the doorway
of an empty room.
While a cold bed cries out
to lonely blankets on the floor.
No more looks of ardor,
nor soft engaging smiles.
Gifts of flowers long decayed,
only memories prevail.
Anguish-bit lips fight back tears.
Flames of the heart extinguished,
leaving only lukewarm ashes
choking for oxygen,
as glowing embers die.
Night Refuge
Flying by the window of time,
seeking truth. Lurking in hidden
passages, susurrations follow.
Apparitions haunt the shadows
of the imagination.
There are no more wishes,
the stars have all gone dark.
Pain swallowed the night.
So, escape the day.
Flee for the night, never look
back. Run towards the darkness
that harbors the silence.
The deep ache of quiet that
floods the senses, battling turmoil
with calm. Future becomes past as
infinity dangles just out of reach.
Quote my words today,
For tomorrow does not exist!
The Final Mile
Brittle bones and broken smiles,
the pathway stretched and worn.
Trodden dreams dissipate and
fade into the past. Seeking solace,
repentance lost, seasons turn again.
Staring out through fading eyes,
the years march swiftly by. The
juxtaposition of fate and fact.
Timetables made. Days spent
planning, the mantle clock loudly
chimes the hour. The mundane
routine of daily life yawns again.
Twisted bodies and aching limbs.
Porcupine quills and serrated
knives, mind numbing sensations
linger on. Burnt toast and sour
milk, the daily fare of late. Clouds
across the moon, another night
goes by, all the while we lumber
forth until we reach that final mile.
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