A ghost behind the moon
Dulcetly laments the passage of time,
Every stroke of luck or doom,
Fate and death imbued in lullaby.
Sometimes it’s all I want to listen to
A song sadder and more beautiful than you
As beautiful as you are in dysfunctional splendor
Something even worse feels so much better.
Versus of cruelty and tragedy
Burning softly beneath unsettled feelings.
Distant narratives of epic abstraction
Quieting the immediate vacuity of complacency.
Amelia took a breath &
Exhaled a gold and silver mist.
The walls and ceiling gazed down
At her form curled up on the floor.
Flowers in a nearby vase turned toward her,
And the guitar in the corner looked as well.
She drew back sharply &
Blew deliberately without making wishes.
Waking one’s possessions can be dangerous,
Resulting often in unwanted attention &
Giving life can have ugly consequences,
Especially in things so tied to one’s distinctions.
In a whisper she expressed
Only the slightest wish for company.
How enjoyable would it be
To share her daydreams with everything she had,
Brought to life enough
To laugh and understand the girl they’re seeing?
What makes us happy?
Well, what gets us through the day?
Compliments and memes,
Dreaming for the future
And sleeping next to someone sweet?
And what makes it work?
What makes the meaning maker?
Money and jobs,
Resources and transactions,
And the endless need for labor?
What does it mean?
Weren’t we making it last verse?
Something that we earn,
Something we’re still learning,
A fantasy or a needed story,
A reason to keep it going
And to believe we have worth.
They cross and collide,
Meanings, means, and distractions.
Moving more apart
And then again together,
More despair and satisfaction.
Movement made momentous by the mind,
Our language for a moment’s passion?
A collection of 20 poems by Sanya E Walma.
Sometimes our potential for growth and our ability to understand ourselves is buried beneath internalized fears and repressed feelings.
Untying the mental knots that distort our true selves requires the willingness to embrace our most intimate anxieties.
This collection of poetry is based on unearthing innermost troubles, finding beauty behind emotional disorder, and learning to express oneself honestly.
Download here as a PDF.
Or order as a paperback from Barnes & Noble or Amazon.
I’m tired of being Imoveably cold
But Warmth doesn’t seem to care for me.
He prefers hearts easier to reach
Over those guarded under lock and key.
Real invigoration is so infrequent
It melts me beyond the use of coherent thought.
It finds me at my most relaxed
And shocks my senses back to full alert.
A warning; If Warmth can reach you,
So can all sorts of volatile expressions.
Good intentions can’t diminish
The fragility of your intimate dimensions.
Born to grave sensitivity
I easily shudder in the light of friendship,
And comfort myself solely
In the snowy luminance of reflection.
Silent waves sink perpetually through my chest.
Someone like me shouldn’t think too much alone.
Graves remind us that something can be nothing.
Something about you leads me back where I’d begun.
Lying to pacify the waves,
Dying to be worthy of my allotted time.
Wind and snow flow endlessly from my foundation.
Warmth and touch are more like burning teeth.
Better than wearing a heart that’s butter-soft.
How long can I hide from thawing in your spring?
Lying to savor little stops in my misery.
Dying a little more to feel comfortable alive.
Listens to Lo-Fi on her phone,
Admiring the nighttime lights of the city
Through streets blanketed with snow
Where unknown treasures are buried.
Cigarette to her lips
Alongside that sensation around her face,
The teeth of wind,
Is all the satisfaction she can take.
To have hung on,
Lived to see another illuminated night,
Stress momentarily forgotten
Despite the punishing nature of her drive
Is worth rewarding.
She needs something, after all.
Demands a moment that’s enjoyable.
Dawn spawns the first shadows
As she reluctantly remembers herself,
Retires behind her bedroom windows,
And waits until she can escape again.
The houses rotted,
The roads cracked and slowly eroded,
Power lines toppled,
And trees retook the place of grass.
Lives had finished,
Completed, but never replaced,
Leaving everything behind
For the mildew and quiet to claim.
Everyone had gone,
And they left a fragmented remembrance,
The ruins of excess
And poverty adapted into shadow palaces.
When everyone goes
I only hope there will be ghosts,
So someone could see
The beautiful remains of our failures.
The arguments died,
All sides are eventually silenced.
Grief lost her way
Without any survivors to guide her.
Indecisions without resolve,
Like half-empty beds and unfinished poems
Revert back to objects
Removed from anxiety and desire.
Landscapes of thought
Retaining echos without sound.
When everything falls
I hope to see what happens then.
To see how unknowable
Our intentions and dreams become.
The kind that sink into you like a sickness,
That grow into hooks strung between our chests.
We understand our world
By seeing it through each other’s words,
Our gazes and movements
Imparting wisdom only we can comprehend.
Reason and purpose,
They’re ours as disciples of one another.
In peace or war
We’re formidable as fortified emotions.
Tragedy is our past.
Romance is our blissful tragic future.
With cake and tension
We unload and collapse in each other’s voids.
Our dresses complimentary,
My blue, your red, wrapped in purple sheets.
We own our faults,
Our secrets our own to whisper in confidence.
Alive and secure within our bounds.
Could I ever be loved as completely
As the honesty of your sincerest introspection?
Mortality and eternity,
Subjects so situated in time
That occupy my emptiness
The way I wish I was admired.
Could I fill your mind
And terrify your sense of being
In such a way as to change
The reality of your inner quiet?
People are like night skies,
Shifting their position and meaning,
So when you gaze at me
I hope you think of what you’re not seeing.
We are mysterious and complicated things,
Too important for casual recognition,
And if I’m ever to be loved again
It must be worth our fullest attention.