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Ian Shatss Poem
Passed the setting sun,
is the inevitable —
The unknown,
The necessity,
The silence,
after the last word spoken,
The way the room forgets
your laughter,
your pain —
Over time, the door closes
and the walls exhale your name,
Collecting dust,
to settle in your place.
Copyright © Ian Shatss | Year Posted 2025
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Ian Shatss Poem
Two hearts,
Brought into consonance to beat as one,
I’ve envisioned these moments, woven in my dreams,
In a villa carved boldly into the rocky cliffs,
Overlooking sapphire waters, vast and eternal,
Engraved in my thoughts like whispers in the wind,
Those forever portraits of you, bathed in a golden haze of ivory silk,
At the water’s edge,
Lost in those icy blue eyes, piercing straight into my soul,
As the breeze, soft as silk, runs its fingers through your golden tresses,
Provoking a shiver, goosebumps rising,
over the warmth of your porcelain touch.
Without a word, I pull you close,
Our bodies entwining,
Scorching through our veins these celestial vibrations,
Unbreakable, like the radiant pulse of ruby-red diamonds
Dancing through the vastness of a distant nebula.
All of these feelings, these precious sentiments,
Transcending the very bounds of love,
Turning heart into imagination,
Propelling my ambitions, igniting the inferno
That once burned fiercely within.
Like a sea of prismatic crystals refracting
The fiery glow of a tiger-orange sun,
Rising to herald yet another season of summertime’s sultry magic.
Copyright © Ian Shatss | Year Posted 2025
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Ian Shatss Poem
The mirror poses
with a strangers heart,
gazing in accusation,
Nameless.
Faceless.
An incarnation of pain
possessing the body,
And yet —
I reach.
For that obsidian glaze.
For the opacity that hides your face.
For a remnant of strength.
For salvation.
For something that still remembers my name.
Copyright © Ian Shatss | Year Posted 2025
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Ian Shatss Poem
I watched her
through that empty mirror,
wiping tears
from her reflection.
Her hands,
steady in surgery,
guided by lessons —
each stitch,
an old memory
threaded beneath
her skin’s reflection.
She peels away
what’s left,
layer by layer,
until only the glaze
of memory clings
beneath her skin.
Now,
the mirror is whole,
nothing of her remains,
no light,
no reflection,
no trace.
Still,
I look for her there,
only to find a stranger staring back at me —
and tears running down his face.
Copyright © Ian Shatss | Year Posted 2025
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Details |
Ian Shatss Poem
Whiskey road,
all alone,
here we go again/
Hitting switchbacks,
going too fast,
chasing down my sin/
Headlights crawl,
through the pouring rain,
to where the road gives out/
Glass eye’d stare,
same whispered prayers,
plunged deep into the black/
Copyright © Ian Shatss | Year Posted 2025
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