Sitting under the tree of oaks
Pale - green, mistic mistletoe,
One last candle burning low,
All the wondering children gone,
Just one soul venturing on,
Shadows lurking who could it be
Yet too late, has taken ahold of me.
Tired I was; my head I began to awoke,
Nodding under the old oak
Pale - green, mysterious mistletoe,
No footsteps came, no voice, but only,
Just as I sat there, scared, lonely
Left in the still and shadowy air,
Soul taken, and wilting body left me there.
Be aware, for No one will ever know
It infest you oh ever so, lurking in the shadows
The invasive Mistletoe.
eleven engrossed esteemed Eastern elves elected Evie, eligible electric elk. Embracing her enthusiastic, energetically evasive elusiveness, enabling enchantment to engage, enhance and excite extra enthusiastic electoralelk endorsement to electrify elfish election.
Where did you go
Where are you now
Unreachable unattainable
Disappeared disenchanted
Vanquished vanished
Gone like the wind
A past stirred up
Of hurts and bruises
Your gaping silence
Unexplained unforgiving
Burning wind persisting
Through brush fire
Time separating us
Pungent scent of ashes
Over its expanding rift
Irreversible irretrievable
AP: Honorable Mention 2020
Submitted on August 31, 2020 for contest COMPLETELY YOUR CHOICE sponsored by BRIAN STRAND - RANKED 1ST
Evasive truth,
Sought refuge in the eye of perception's cyclone
For
To avoid being detected by Man's inquiring mind!
© Demetrios Trifiatis
02 July 2019
Compulsive and Evasive
While watching my TV
this is what continually
appears on news. All of
this has a major affect
regarding what my poems
will be about.
Has been compulsive;
Abusive in many ways;
Way he chose to live.
Again, a reflection of
Trump's interview on TV.
Jim Horn
Honesty, behind a wall.
Belief in something, but not at all.
The truth is there, but never seen.
Things you say, but never mean.
Reality is just a lie.
Fame and fortune you try to buy.
Soon no one will be able to pay.
The price it costs when some get thier way.
A world beyond an innocent age.
Where wisdom's lost it's wise old sage.
A feast of fools for devils prey.
The signs are there, what do they say?
Survival instincts win the fight.
To help you get through one more night.
But in the morning, what comes to light.
We know inside, just can't be right.
The evil's loosed upon the land.
No Wayne or Eastwood to take a stand.
Just throw the football and act a fool.
Because in these times, nobody's cool. Wo!
The moonlight slips
through fingertips
and then i start to weep
for in the moonlight
is the fright
of secrets left to keep.
The sunlight pours
right through my doors
and then i start to smile
for in the sunlight
are daydreams
i ponder for awhile.
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