Poem 26: OBLIVION

A knot so tight,
Stuck in my throat,
Words of delight?
I laugh out of spite.

What do you want?
A familiar face now foreign,
Lost for meaning, judged often
By eyes that see sound, softened.

Mind so clouded,
Thoughts rushing, crowded
A parade of vivid dreams,
Strangely cheerful it seems.

Even maybe strangely sad,
Most considered it tacenda,
Broken sky leaking into meridian,
It fills us, the infinity of oblivion.

Poem 22: TRANCEPARENCY

I howled so loud,
As they buried me,
In the cold wet ground.
Time fitted that into a palm
Distance brought distance,
In unison, so calm
Harmony, transparency,
I feel your pulse,
With such clarity,
Many masks we all hide behind,
Don’t forget eye for an eye
Will make the world go blind.
Deception, betrayal, dishonesty
The lack of transparency,
Hold me,
Beyond a skin-deep sense of self,
There’s a depth of rasasvada unusually elysian.
Make a decision,
Watch an irenic mangata
The moon reflecting on the sea
Peace simply asks for transparency.

Poem 21: CONTROL

He would join his daily coma,
On his faded old sofa,
Just like clockwork, tik tok, tik tok,
The alcohol, streaming his veins,
Tied down with ropes and chains,
I am sorry, he cries as he explains,
All the broken promises obsessively he maintains.

I stood still in my corner,
Terrified,
I stood still as days became weeks,
Weeks became months and years,
Time passed uncontrollably,
I watched and learned his behaviour,
All his techniques.
I saw empty bottles broken, so lovely,
Face pale, and drained, so ugly,
I never saw him come home early.
Until one day, he never came at all.

I’m in no need for a climax,
After a sensation of alcohol,
The trick is to relax,
I promise it’s my last drunk call.
The world is black and white,
Sometimes a little in between,
Mostly smells like piss in the alleyways,
It’s far from a pretty scene.

My hands are wrinkled,
Eyes barely see,
Hair is now grey,
But am I really free?
Time has caught up,
I am old and grown up,
Turned into my alcoholic father,
Like father like daughter,
No point in regret,
Because I can’t just pack,
And pick a time to go back.
Funky smell, jukebox, neon lights,
Vodka soda, with a bit of lime,
One thing we can’t control is time.

Poem 20: MIRROR

Do not disturb the silence,
It’s in his cage, sleeping, no violence,
He is my nightmare, my horror,
What a dark aura.
I am weak, getting weaker,
Draining my spirit, diving deeper,
I was never much of a public speaker,
More the suffer in silence,
It’s fine honestly,
Because no one is aware of my absence.
Life is spiting a cunning smile
On my face like a slap, I walk for a mile,
With a broken nose, black eye,
Bleeding lips, full of kisses saying goodbye.
But he is awakening,
Digging, and chewing the cage, I’m listening.
Stop him. Please, stop him.
But my odds are slim,
I don’t know what I will face,
I am petrified, is there simply no way to erase,
The past, my memories or this place?
I cry, without shoulders to cry on,
I scream; however, no soul hears,
I am all alone,
Sitting in a dark room,
At least I’ve got a throne,
Finally, the cage unleashes my biggest fear,
Before me it stands so dear,
It’s dark, chill hits down my spine,
It’s presence far from divine.
I see myself, it’s a mirror,
A pale face, and dry lips, bitter,
I feel a cold weight in my hand.
We both have a weapon, a pistol,
BAM! Unheard words, so wistful.

Poem 19: UTOPIA

We are the brain cells,
Of a nine-year-old boy,
His imagination with deep wells and spells.
There is no reality, in this reality,
It’s full of faceless eyes.
Synthetic lips, cursed with sanity,
Insanity, sanity people so concerned for morality,
Yet their hypocrisy, hurts my chest
A dead utopia, dust and a quest.
Full of lawless streets but I am free,
Lawless streets with nobody,
Lawless streets and a smiling cat,
Singing from a tree, just like LSD.
This is the dead utopia,
All you people fear,
Because our existence only exists,
As long as this boy is asleep and unaware.

Poem 11: SKIN

In my chest, my ribs protect,
Hard bones, a dying fire,
An empty void I neglect,
Surrounded by electrical barb wire.

My demons awaken,
The wolves, howl with the full moon,
Every creature which sleeps inside. God-forsaken.
What a sad, lonely tune.

They confuse my kindness,
Assume it is weakness. Sinister grin.
I introduce hell,
It wears my skin.

Melissa Johnson

Poem 10: DAY & NIGHT

Sipping my tea, knock on the door. A visitor.
Golden long wavy hair, dancing with the breeze,
The dark sky fading, sunrise. Warm beauty. Sinister.
Her smile earnest, a little keen. I’m at ease.

Together we sipped our tea. Sweet and milky. Peaceful Harmony.
Silence broke as the world woke from its sleep,
Her eyes cut through the morning ray. “I devour darkness. Eternally.”
“He is my love, my sweetheart. But cannot live when I’m near.” Weep.

She is my source of life, no need for fear,
For when she’s around. Time had fled.
I took a glimpse to her seat. Gone. I shed a tear.
She was my sun, my day. Widespread.

The world was asleep, a trespasser in my presence,
cloak woven with shadows; I knew then. Darkness.
I trembled in my seat. Breathe, smile, patience.
His love was day, the sun, the light. He could not be heartless.

His black deep eyes stared into my soul,
He spoke, “I do not ask for much child,”
Voice deep and cold, “I am what you cannot control.”
“I am fear, the unknown, dangers of hope.” Cunningly smiled.

He was my desires in physical form. Maybe upside down.
Although, I was no longer afraid,
I was allowed to dream, to desire, with him around.
He was my moon, my night, my fantasies in a darker shade.

Melissa Johnson.

Poem 7: MYSTICAL CREATURE

This one is about you, mystical creature,
Created by the core of nature’s own hands, blood that’s silver.
Beauty is her weapon, power, deadly at its best
Destructive in the best way possible, never turns down a spell request.

The creature surrounds herself with crystals,
For she is the daughter, the witch of the enchanted forests,
Many men have tried to take her down, pointing their pistols,
Miserably failed and she held her head high, continuing her performance.

Her hair was birthed on this very day from the ashes,
Eyes from the tides of the oceans, her voice ever so in tune,
Skin like the winter, cold yet sweet,
A mystical creature, born on the edge of the crescent moon.

Happy birthday to you Alice,
For you are my special golden chalice.

Melissa Johnson.

Poem 5

You claimed with all your might,
To know me better than,
The skies knows the kites,
You believed, deep within
You have figured me out,
But struggled to see the rivers,
Running down my spine,
Or the stony pathway to the castle,
Buried behind the forests,
Inside of my heart.
You were yet to discover,
The breeze my breath left,
On your skin,
Or the fingerprint marks,
That stained your bed sheets,
You tasted my snow storms,
You feared its form,
You ran away from my winter,
As you said it is too cold.
I watched you ran away,
Like a coward,
Before my spring able to come along,
And give you a bit of warmth.

Greek Mythology; Hades

It has surely been a fascinating mystery to me as to why so many oppose and bear a disliking towards Hades, or simply portray him as the villain in nearly every book, film and story. Is his job not to just secure balance between the two worlds, and only merciless if humans — as cunning as they are — were to cheat him to escape from death, from the underworld? He is not evil, I assure and know of it. He surely is disliked but not many really knows as to the reason behind it. I can assure that no one really came to the realisation to ask why? No one ever really took a moment to think about him, he the oldest of all siblings, the one who boiled in stomach acid the longest, and again no one took a moment to think when he was ostracised by his own flesh and blood, his own family.

He is not evil, I assure and know of it.

Hades does not take souls, therefore he is not death but the ruler of the dead. He rules what is sent to him. He is known for his firmness yes, but he is also fair. Western production try hard to turn Hades into a powerful dark character, however, when glimpsing into reality he is the sweet, awkward one who probably writes poetry in his own time. Being dark and gloomy by nature must not make one bad or evil. How can one not trust who owns a dog?

When provided by a choice to either become the ruler and God of the skies, of the sea or everything underneath, he simply watched as his brother turned against each other for the first two, hatred captivating their hearts, thus saw the last option as a means of escape. He was smart, he thought outside the box and was well aware of the potential of the extent of what could come under his rule; all of the jewels and metal, and was he to ever to embrace the darkness, every human would become his eventually, thus leaving him with and army, making him the strongest.

No one ever really took a moment to think about him, he the oldest of all siblings, the one who boiled in stomach acid the longest, and again no one took a moment to think when he was ostracised by his own flesh and blood, his own family.

His realm would be the most vast, subjects the most numerous, without a doubt out numbering his two brother, and wealth beyond any measure. Well aware of the fact that when the time was to come ahead he could effortlessly take the other two realms for himself.