Silence plagues this mind
nothing brings relief
Darkness brings nightmares drifters,
demons of past, present, and future
This mind turns on itself; everything on repeat
Counting...not sheep...but what-ifs
what ifs of the day, of yesterday and tomorrow
Insomnia dances with me in the moonlit kitchen
A hollow darkness that I cannot swim out of
Insomnia
Holds me hostage inside of my house,
inside of my head
It romanticizes the dim-lit oven light
that dips me in a trance of insomnia bliss
It's a slow nightly torment that weighs
heavy upon my soul
trapped by your lies
you hold my heart hostage
throwing out the key
the clock tower held her hostage
she knew there was a message
aren’t you asleep yet? called her mother
she was quiet, feigning sleep
knowing it was not going to happen tonight
He’s been on the lawn
Every year…for 40 years
A four foot tall plastic
Glowing, snowman
I sat with him yesterday
As he looked a bit down.
Asked “what’s up old friend?”
He sighed, slowly spoke
Asking “where are all my friends?”
“There are no angels across the street
No bells chiming down the way
I haven’t heard one Christmas carol
Or seen one silly Christmas sweater”
I hesitated to tell him
The Grinch had actually
Stolen Christmas
Or at least held its joy hostage.
He flinched when I told him
“some even take offense at you”
Because of what you symbolize,
What you stir in the hearts of children
Reawaken in the hearts of alleged adults.
My neighbors are trying to figure out
Why I was sitting on the lawn
Singing Frosty the Snowman
Loudly and somewhat off key
HOSTAGES TO FORTUNE
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
“Luck—that’s what some call it, a capricious cotillion with probability, eventually holding one hostage to fortune…” quote by the poet
***************
Onlookers watch, brows furrowed with wisdom,
judging the inanity of my gambles, the absurdity of my heart~
the unwise pledge made to destiny and chance.
Is it luck I chase or a deeper current pulling me onward,
a commitment to something unseen~
a surrender to the unknown Hand that guides me?
Consequences sometimes sharp and bitter~
Are they lessons etched in pain or moments of grace,
divinely ordained, the Master shaping my soul?
Were my falls intended all along,
an awkward dance orchestrated by a Divine hand,
making me a willing hostage not to fortune but to faith?
Yes, I am a hostage, bound and gladly surrendered~
a devotee of faith's uncertain embrace.
In my captivity, I find the ultimate freedom.
TV holds me hostage
not interesting one bit
yet I cannot move from my chair
for I am fluffy, not fit
The drone of the TV dear
lulls my heavy body to sleep
the time that I waste here
makes me want to wail and weep
I hold them hostage
Attempt to bend them to my will
Dull the abrasiveness of now
Cloak them in a past
Devoid of presence
Feelings
False scents of marred moments
Simmering memories
Bubbling to the surface
In a cauldron of chaos
I'm held hostage to a dream
A dream of what could be
A dream of you and me
and love's eternity
I'm held hostage to a dream
A dream that you can change
that fate can rearrange
our dommed reality
I'm held hostage to a dream
A dream that passion's kiss
Will heal what is amiss
Renew affinity
I'm held hostage to a dream
A dream of prefect peace
Of wounded pride's release
Regained vitality
I'm held hostage to a dream
A dream of lasting love
What hopes are all made of
A sweet comraderie
This hostage must break free
I've finally come to see
To rewrite destiny
My savior I must be
Post Script...
I'm a hostage who's found release
Please, don't come looking for me.
Eileen Manassian
This is the news, a dream of peace,
an echo from the Middle East,
where children cannot understand,
the broken bones of broken lands,
their only hope, for war to cease.
Every imam, rabbi and priest,
can hear the loss for those deceased,
while leaders watch or wash stained hands,
this is the news.
Hope is a hostage for release,
a call for all the bombs to cease,
while children cannot understand,
the razor wire of war-torn lands,
and parents only dream of peace,
this is the news.
It was covered by a blanket of moss
with a wood fence that looked as sturdy as
a young child’s craft project, stretching across
a patio, the memory of jazz.
It had a tower on the balcony,
reaching towards the moon in the midnight sky.
A witches’ tower made with alchemy
in which a kidnapped girl, hostage, would cry.
It has a fierce lean, rivaling that of
the famous Piza ruin, so extreme
it looks it will fall if you give a shove.
The castle, the image, must be a dream.
An old green forest, decaying behind
the stone castle, which I’m sure you can find.
Murky, elsewhere
The only thing you would stare
Vision? Twisted
And never been intoxicated
That bouncy heart never quits
It keeps rattling the ribs
"Make it out alive, you freak!"
But you couldn't make a tread
Abducted, trapped in your head
Those butterflies start to spin
'round your head in turn
On the moment you notice
"Man, I'm going nuts"
"Help!" you shriek
With all the oomph of your gut
But you were running in circles
No one came to cut you loose
Hearing only your echoes
As you're trapped in your own abyss
Where no one sees
a fat black bumpy snake took me hostage in a roll.
pulled me right down into the farthest darkest hole
What the heck! What the heck! What the heck!
whoa! I yelled out for he had his fangs around my neck
down we slithered and slunk, my captor and me
I doubted he was inviting me to afternoon tea
I desperately tried to find a pocket knife
But I have never carried one in my life
suddenly I realized I was writing a poem
Would I ever get to write it?
Would he bring me home?
Who! Whoa! Whoa! Let’s talk I screamed
It was a silent scream, an awful dream.
CAMPED
I am from a corn-tree
where people are divided into three
yet, ethnicity is seen as salvation.
he alone will get us away from molestation
The youth are dying every minute
for their loyalty in exchange for peanuts.
no one is here to RISE TO COMPATRIOT.
yet they make us think they are patriots
We deviate from norms
Just to face more harms
From the so-called leaders
Who are cheaters
You and I are in bondage
Since our voices have been held, hostage
In our fathers land
No one dares demand or stand,
against those who feed us one congo of rice
Since our emotions have been played like a dice
Alas! One day I hope we have a story to tell
To that unborn seed of how we fell.
©Fawass Olalekan Adelabu
Eight bedrooms simply can’t be beat
until the kids can’t handle the heat.
At 6 am, the beach is nice;
And I am headed for a stroll.
At 7, sun is poking out,
I guess I’m still glad on the whole.
I turn around and head back home;
The half-way thoughts somewhat console.
By 8 am, the sun is hot;
I’m drenched with sweat from head to toe,
But I can see the house ahead,
A few blocks down, not far to go.
Once back inside, the A/C on,
The waiting game has now begun
For I will likely hide away
until the day has ditched the sun.
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