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Davis Mills Poem
I pluck a note,
One more. A chord.
A melody floats,
My heart, torn.
The music turns
Twists, bends
Down a dark path
That never ends
Into a trace,
my mind enthralled,
By being poured into
This song, evolved
For music is what
Feelings sound like
Why is it that mine
Always sounds so tragic?
I feel alive inside,
Happy even,
For good reasons, aye.
Perhaps all
That needs to be
Is to concentrate
On you and me
The music lifts
The theme pronounced,
As I realize
Happiness is in all of our hearts.
No matter how deep buried.
Realize, you are
Extraordinary.
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2021
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Davis Mills Poem
The strings of my heart are pulled taut like a bow
A tension within sourced deep down below
Too many odd dreams, inside me it seems,
Their wretched whispers, a bleak audio
They reach out and grasp my heartstrings impure
Why do they all hold so much allure?
All of them mine, but there’s not enough time
To give to all of my thoughts so obscure.
My head starts to pound, my mind now goes numb,
A song of discord, my dreams start to strum
Upon my heartstrings, and sprouting black wings
Flitter the flutterbies; Wingbeat to the drum
Out the window, a fell wind on the chimes,
My dreams are ill-lit like a forest of pines,
Yet never unknown, for they are my own,
Seasoned and flavored with hemlock and thyme
The wind is now roaring in the twilight
I suffer the scourge each sleepless night
All the long while, my throat fills with bile
For flutterbies flit, the devious blights
My dreams won’t let go of heartstrings so grim
Plucking and playing, live life to their whim
I haven’t the strength to battle at length
Thus I hearken to their dissonant hymn.
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Mills Poem
“A window would really open up
The place”
The builder had said,
“Light up the room,
You know.
Gotta have something to
Bring in the light
Round here”
“Yes, yes,
A window would do fine”
My dearest replied,
So long ago.
And sitting here
At the window
So many years
After she had
Gone away from me,
I am reminded of her.
When the sun peeks its rays
Around the stoic clouds,
And as they make their way,
Through the panes,
Spilling onto the floor behind,
Past my tear-stained face.
As I remember
Her smiling face,
When she sat in the chair beside me
Looking out the window,
On days such as this.
And with empty-headed lament,
I draw the curtain
Across the window,
That was meant to bring light,
And happiness
Into our home,
But now only brings sorrow.
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Mills Poem
The wind carries my song
From my lips to the corners of the earth,
And the flowers in gladness bloom,
The trees stand a little taller,
And the springs bubble from the roots of the mountains.
The wind carries my whispers
From my teeth to the skies.
But I am oblivious to their sound;
My musings fall not upon my own ears.
Give me grace to renounce my own voice on the wind,
For sometimes I don’t believe it’s there,
Despite the love of flowers for the sound in air.
And yet I sing on
Desperate to hear the melody for myself,
Clinging on to an ancient belief
Give me grace to renounce
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Mills Poem
Vacant Perdition
Reeling listless
Empty story
Gazing, endless
Mandatory
Purgatory
Muted motion
Thinking sorely
Null devotion
Sudden urges
Fleeting feelings
Will emerges
Sailing ceilings
Disused dealings
Mislaid purpose
Broken meanings
Without service
It’s insipid
Bouncing bluster
Wisdom wicked
Nothing mustered
Lacking luster
Sempiternal
Filibuster
Silence vernal
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Mills Poem
Gazing into the water’s depth, I see not fish or stone,
I only have eyes for what is my own
My form and face, both grace the smooth pale surface
My head swimming with my thoughts and my beliefs,
I realize the man in the mirror water is the same as me.
I look at him, expecting to be filled with pride, and yet,
I feel only envy.
I scowl at him, trying to get him to go away,
But he does not.
He simply scowls back at me, as if mocking me.
His face, I’ll never have as much poise as his.
Drip!
Drop!
The rain now plops and drips and drops and pitters and patters down unto the earth
And it strikes the man in the mirror water
Ha!
There! Now your face is uglier than mine!
I can only imagine the agony he faces.
And yet, when the deluge finally ceases,
And I stand over him gloating,
He too stands there defiant,
With that devilishly prideful stare of his.
And too, his expression darkens when he sees that I have lived through the wild storm.
At last, I resolved to leave,
Though it angered me that I would be leaving someone out in the world beautiful enough to challenge me.
And so I stayed, looking back at the man in the mirror water,
Unable to strike him, unable to ever make him less beautiful than me.
Till time itself ended.
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Mills Poem
I try to ignore you, and yet,
I can’t forget your piercing voice.
It penetrates my skull swiftly.
A quickly paralyzing noise.
I seek to tell myself to try,
To fly away from looking down,
Upon myself. Making things worse;
A curse that keeps sticking around.
I try to make my feelings known,
Alone I scream into the void.
And while your voice cuts me unloved,
What’s above, so below devoid:
The silence is heavy and thick,
Pricking me as I sit there dead.
Almost unbearable it is;
Invisible ‘til something’s said.
I try to leave the memories,
Of sceneries so long ago.
This summer was a haze, brain numb,
Succumbed to letting feelings go.
I try to ignore you but alas,
I can’t surpass or escape you.
Trapped here I am so, so alone;
A mere stone’s throw away from you,
And yet I say nothing, nothing,
Discussing nothing ever again.
And that’s the way it shall be now.
I hope thou art free of my pain.
I don’t miss you, only feeling,
Appealing to someone who cares.
So why does your voice still hurt me?
Mercy, God, please hear my prayers.
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2021
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Davis Mills Poem
When the wind shifts to the south,
When the leaves wither and die,
I begin upon my path again.
Once again.
When the air begins to bite,
When the skies are beryl-blue,
My mind begins to wander,
And I wonder.
When folk titivate their lawns,
After leaves fall like summer rain,
My introspective whimsy awakes at last;
I study myself again.
Year after year,
Time after time,
Without fail, my inquisition is roused,
And I see myself again,
Like through a crystal glass.
I can see myself.
Year after year,
Time after time,
I catch the psyche’s wind,
And drift despite invective,
Despite mawkish thoughts,
And drift despite.
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Mills Poem
The flowers of the spring are known
Throughout the land, they bloom and grow
But those that bloom when else is naught
Quietly show their beauty wrought
In winter’s grasp upon the earth
Kin’s absence is what shows their worth
The fragile winter flower’s grace
Is not that bold, nor that great
Yet because it stands alone
It stands upon an icy throne
For it has thrived where others died
That fills it with a secret pride
And defiantly it shows its love
As it gazes east to the sun
The sun which rises up above
And hurries to its bed, the west
To slumber deep, its glow arest
And all the while the north wind blows
Biting cold in winter’s throes
Which the flower weathers deftly
As it struggles as it gently
Lifts its head East in morning gold
And blooms defiant in the cold
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2022
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Davis Mills Poem
Thud
This thing born of breath and bone,
Seated on its secret throne,
A harbinger of ignition,
Pulling us from our perdition.
Thud
By the dream and the waking,
Anger ripe for the taking;
It reaps the spite from our minds.
By moon and star, flesh it grinds.
Thud
Distortion: its holy blade.
Singing songs of pain and rage
Wrought of mortal blood and steel,
Hefted high with fervent zeal.
Thud
The power of death endowed
While the thunder rolls throughout
This keen five-minute crusade.
In finale, the sin fades
Thud
The Metal cannot be stopped.
Born from those who rolled and rocked
It’s darkness: a warm embrace.
Rage released, a swift escape.
Thud
Thud.
And pounding, my heart feels the pull of the music, and it knows that it is free.
Copyright © Davis Mills | Year Posted 2022
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