The Dialogue. (poeTry)

by: a.paige

and the dialogue grows

the irreconcilable, uncontrollable creature knows

when another voice calls out

everyone screams out

for everyone else to tame

the beast that had awakened their fear

but who is left to hear?

the ongoing conversations leave me with

a funny feeling, hinting

all voices converge at some point. ’tis time

“we are here, we are here,” we chant till nine

then fly to the moon and back, wishing

that heaven listened, even as the stars glisten

but who is there to hear?

The Muse At The Seams. [poeTry]

by: amica paige


Perpetual disarray.
Discombobulated
and knotted hair.
A feet of floss
for an inch of green...
Broccoli...parsley,
all else in between.
You peered in the mirror,
so as not to be seen.
A fleet of Albatross!—
your flitting mind screamed.
You knelt down right
before you jumped in.
The morning shower
you now lingered in...
thoughts discomfiting
and late lunch sans cream.

A peek at thy thoughts show
the muse at the seams...

Home [poeTry]

by: amica paige


you're a bird,
guided by moonlight,
calling the wind

you're a bird,
perched on the crowns
of elms and evergreens

you're a bird,
riding with time,
spanning the seas

you're a bird,
soaring the heavens,
spreading your wings

you're a bird,
roaming the world,
but the air is your home.

Ode to Life (poeTry)

***In honor of National Poetry Day

by amica paige


Uplift us to your heights
We'll ride the winds of time
upon your eager wings.

Take us to your depths
Adrift, we only kiss
your face when lost at sea.

Pull us past your dirt
deep within your hearth.
We'll fan your dying heart.

Then shoot us out of here
Spring us up with fire
into the open haze...

where the clouds will cradle us
if only for a moment,
as in our mothers' wombs...

And through a hundred cycles,
we'll tread the sea again
until the end of time

when Earth decides to hurl
our silent ashes up,
spent as offerings.

Did God have joyful tears?
We're glorious winged specks,
creation's golden dust.

We'll shine it, all the light
we muster from the heavens,
reflect it to each other.

Because even the spineless worms
can see the senselessness
in your rampant absurdities...

So fill us with thy breadth.
We'll ride your fickle wind
and spread our hidden wings.

Beware, o youthful one. (poeTry)

by amica paige


Beware, o youthful mind.
Appease the test of time.
Gather a thought, a feather,
a page in an open book
a leaf, a stone
a twig, crossbones
a swig of might
a dose of delight
a pen, a cup
an overflow
a weathered friend
the light at the end
a spider's web
a strong desire
for the breadth of life,
through ice
and fire,
in ocean's depth
afloat on earth.
On earth.

Beware, o youthful one.
Withstand the test of time.
Gather a thought, a feather,
and ride the book of life.

Wonder...wander... What's your story?

I'm a not a fatalist. I do believe in willpower and magic and hope...for a better place and justice. I just can't smile with happy people all the time and think positive away the demons at play...while we try to survive the best way we can—some of us in yachts and castles, and others beneath bridges...in tunnels...or on benches, and still others stuck between walls in the middle. And still others...the helpless ones imprisoned in silent rooms...who are silenced by those who are drunk and deluded with power, like God...

Hunger...

I just cannot think positive away the demons at play. But I can help keep human garbage at bay and pick up my share the best way I can, and maybe tune in and lend an ear to see the inaudible, invisible cries...that I, too, might understand their pain...that I might extend a hand or walk a mile...perhaps. And when that still isn't enough, I hope for a better place.

Will power's persistence in this befuddling existence—that is magic. And only because of love, without which what other means must we employ our ultimate will? Where did we get it from—this love?—who instilled it in us humans? I used to think I knew so well, but the wind changes course... Now I only think about it too, sometimes. But I, like you, won't know the end of the story until I get there. Until then, I must keep going and live this thing...this role...this play...on this stage, and not waste so much time thinking about the director...since the time given us is short.

Yet I just can't smile with happy people all the time and think positive away the demons at play. But don't hate me. I'm just a realist, not an enemy. I am not against you, just maybe your ideals sometimes. Meanwhile, I still smile and look up at the sky, whenever I'm not tripping on and picking up garbage.

J.R.R. Tolkien said: "Those who wander are not always lost".

And so, I wonder sometimes.