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Anthea Reddy Poem
It began with a tiny black hole in my mind,
bit by bit it gravitated me into the void;
making me a slave to silence.
I had never seen anything more powerful,
perhaps it was a god;
a deity of darkness or hell.
I was immured in shackles,
made a prisoner of the dark;
yet in isolation I kept myself alive.
I begged the many divinities of the world,
yet none spoke of benediction.
No one stood alongside
and no one held my hand.
I knew I couldn’t make it,
but I didn’t let it show.
My mind screamed in thoughts
and my heart grew cold.
I couldn’t feel the outside world,
I was still in it
but it wasn’t in me anymore.
Thus, I clutched my heart in my hand
and locked my fist.
I switched off,
bereft of any feelings;
I became numb.
‘The Great Darkness’ became an acquaintance in solace
and let slip it’s deepest and darkest secret,
‘’that the best way out is through’’.
Hence, I placed back the frozen heart,
hopeful it would melt;
but flames breached from a rift;
igniting a wild fire;
captivating me and everything around.
It was a renascence
from my rite of passage,
that rekindled the id;
to moult
and contort
by the ordeal.
A door closed behind me
and a door swung open in front.
I saw everything I never wanted
and everything I always did.
I came out to the dark alleys of the world
with my chattel,
a forever-burning candle;
to light up yours;
for it was the end of the beginning.
Copyright © Anthea Reddy | Year Posted 2019
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Anthea Reddy Poem
Starry nights,
laying wide-awake;
lost in thoughts dark and deep.
No one sings lullabies
by your bedside
to ease you to sleep.
Cold nights,
curled up in woe;
starving to the core.
No one cares
if you need a repast
or sleep with an echoing stomach sore.
Thunderous nights,
yowling on your knees;
feeling hopeless in a pit.
No one holds you
while you break,
so you fall apart bit by bit.
Full moon nights,
numbing yourself with nicks and cuts;
hoping your hurt will wane.
No one cares
or tells you its going to be okay,
so you go insane.
Every morning you still get out of bed,
when all you want is to be dead;
after living through nights of hell.
No one applauds
or pats your back,
for the times you rose after you fell.
But it’s time old soul
to hum your pacific lullaby,
kill your anti-hero hunger
and stitch your own tatter.
It’s time to pat yourself from the back,
parade your self-love;
for you need no one
to tell you that you matter.
Copyright © Anthea Reddy | Year Posted 2022
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Anthea Reddy Poem
Cold creeps
from swift whirlwinds
left me quivering with chattered teeth
and drenching with sweat.
Trumpeting;
foreshadow of war.
There I was
aghast on the battlefield
accoutered with no armor or shield
and no cavalrymen to deploy;
ashen with fear.
Venomous arrowheads
seared me with scars
as a sword ravaged my heart.
I yielded in anguish
at the acme of predicament,
kneeling forth my adversary.
My soul roared with rage
as it set ablaze in the cage.
Scorched by the flames;
fire streamed through my veins,
unveiling my chaste
and awakening the spirit within.
With the might of a warrior
I perished my nemesis,
alias; the demons in the mind.
Dawn abrupt in the azure sky;
denoting the apogee of valor.
Copyright © Anthea Reddy | Year Posted 2020
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Anthea Reddy Poem
I still remember that little girl
who didn’t like sharing her toys,
but swirled in the hurricane
and snatched away her joys.
I still remember that little girl,
singing blissfully all day long;
but rapped in the hurricane
and she forgot her happy song.
I still remember that little girl
dancing gleefully in the rain,
but nudged in the hurricane
and she never forgot pain.
I still remember that little girl
who relished swings and rides,
but swung in the hurricane
and away from the green she now hides.
I still remember that little girl
with fantasies of fame,
but slandered in the hurricane
and she buried her own name.
I still remember that little girl
with dreams that of kings,
but seized in the hurricane
and broke her beautiful wings.
I still remember that little girl,
wondering where she might be;
lost somewhere in her childhood,
that little girl was me.
Copyright © Anthea Reddy | Year Posted 2019
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Anthea Reddy Poem
I see it,
I see the silence now
shattering, lingering,
mounting up the loud walls
where I used to hear the colours
and every shade of your voice
reverberating from wall to wall
now faded off of these grey blocks;
Imprinting a memoir,
Inexpressive, coarse
and cares not to reminisce
or summon your existence
from the vivid portrait
deemed as art.
These walls
now detain a gathering
of successors
and their fabricated empathy
merely present for reserves.
The occasion leisurely stoops to a strife
tormenting, scandalizing,
unparalleled to your death-cry
that still haunts my memories
as I endure captivity with kin,
I discover neither a soul inheriting your wisdom
nor an understudy
to console me
from this dreadful dream.
Deserted and furious,
I thud the walls to crumble
to its frail knees
but losing to its defences
I wearily bow,
uttering pleas
till it’s sensitive.
Perceiving no answer
I screech, sob
to melt its very heart,
to bribe my way through the veil
and end the incessant woe.
The walls;
Immovable, oblivious,
unconscious to answer,
offers no relief
and inspires no hope.
Preyed upon by the void,
the void that now remains
disguises as haven.
I walk by the walls
that label me now a foe,
I slyly yield,
rest on its icy shoulders,
still questioning for mercy in its soul
till it confides in me
or confines
what remains of me too.
Copyright © Anthea Reddy | Year Posted 2022
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Anthea Reddy Poem
I stood still;
stationed
amidst a crossroad;
dispirited
with a dormant mind.
One decision away;
two alternatives,
yet one to be espoused.
Do I listen to my intuition
and swim across the lake of dreams
or do I listen to perceptions
and hop onto the imminent train of life?
Caught in the chaos,
A battle
betwixt the heart
and the brain;
alike an incessant war
of fire and ice.
Copyright © Anthea Reddy | Year Posted 2019
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