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Best Poems Written by Sabrina Millicent

Below are the all-time best Sabrina Millicent poems as chosen by PoetrySoup members

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Denial

Dazed as the phone wire strangled my neck 
End of my youth faded with you 
Noise of my tears echoes neighbouring walls 
Innocent dreams dimmed in stardust so prematurely 
And still every day I ask the sky why you are a star
Lost in the solar system without a glittering goodbye.

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winter

rain wails from the sky
the winter of discontent 
puddling fury tears

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Wailing Crows

The grey crows light cavern, wailing in web tavern
as lemurs juice pattern, sky from earth to Saturn.

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Journal

“To live in hearts 
we leave behind 
is not to die.” 
Thomas Campbell 

If I could colour grey clouds of grief
I wrap them in sky's sapphire relief
I'd dim delusional pale peridot eyes to wake up to your violet voice
Grey clouds of grief
I'd rewind to my childhood cherished times
Burying creepy crawling tainted tears in streams
Pursuing my twisting teal path of dandelion dreams
For I'm drowsy from howling hollow cries
I no longer desire to be feral like a fox
My heart isn't like a rackley rock
I'm melting internally my thoughts are on ice in a brittle block.
I yearn for resilient rose quartz squirrel whispers
As dawn of sangria
September arrives
Intoxicated by the air of stirring leaves magenta memories
Your first amber autumn anniversary
I seek strength from the vines of
transforming time
I don't strive to be stuck within a storm of silent sonnets in my journal at nighttime.
I long for a life again of daring escapades
Maybe hereafter
I will depart for the opium seas
It's the only place I'm free to be an antique version of me.

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Growth

The life sequence of  ripples 
some waves are brittle 
Evolving is driving 
through the drizzle

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Lost Joy

I desire my lost bark power 
The oak heart I used to possess 
My joy hidden in the rain’s  mess  
The veiled light for leaves to flower    
To mute tyrants now I cower.

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Storm

storm 
branches 
sway smiling 
yellow leaves tap dance  
mosaic sky glows 
light wind upon barks 
wet eyes 
gliding   
hope

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Anacreontic Verse

 My last wet tears 
stain the starlit sky 
in cold frosted shades
As tangible fears
awaken  sleeping    
 distant memories 
of aged hidden pain
 These mortified eyes  
don't recall the tales 
 my children now tell  
of my past sad sins
In my dire defence 
 lasting episodes 
of assembling joy 
never did escape 
parent's cutting lips
A pale memory
fades in present days 
I don't remember 
teen tornado years
My acts of dark hate
left deep open scars 
ones that never healed
I long to rewind  
 grains of quicksand time
learn the art of love
perhaps forgiveness 
will thrive when I’m gone.

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Life is a Song

My Life is a song sung in a 
series of repetitive inferior notes.
I’m unable to record mellow melodies, 
as my violin strings continually play 
with reckless violet villains. 
As I sit and replay recitals of 
bleeding love harmonies. 

My soul is shattered and sunken 
in silent sonnets. 
I'm flickering through the tears of 
tainted years of hexagon heartbreaks. 
Unable to trust poetic phrases from a 
cedar conductor whose musical agility 
makes my saxophone eyes sing. 
I conceal my sunrise hope in a 
chaotic chorus of anguish; 
which I play to my sympathetic 
amber anxiety, to justify the 
lonesome path I’ve chosen to hike. 

I fail to embrace the serenity 
of their light rap rhymes 
in my erratic brain. 
Instead, I reminisce 
about my sorrowful pity puddle spells, 
when countless deceptive trumpets 
stole my musical directives 
destined for classical charts.  
I am forsaken in operas of 
maroon misery serenaded by 
these weeping, wailing windpipes. 

I desire to awaken my 
ancient pop culture life. 
The sangria sunrise era 
when only rainbow hits escaped my pen.  
I recall I wrote reams of rhythmic sheets;  
filled with halo heroes, 
painting electrical euphoria 
upon Harvard's crisp horizons. 
A time when youthful bands sang of 
everlasting devotion, 
glowing glee upon my ebony core.

My fuschia feet are wounded and 
depleted from my frequent falls in 
my ballet of ruby romances.  
I aspire to dance to all the Jazz 
freedom beats and not break-dance 
with soprano snakes. 
As I’ve detected, they are thirsty for my 
rhythmic rays for their 
applause and accolades to reign. 

Now is the time for my piano to 
recreate my platinum diamond hits.   
For my lyrical pieces to thrive,  
I must retire my historical woes to the 
rear of my Broadway sympathy show. 
I accept this is the only way 
to win my desired Tony prize.

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If I sing songs

If I sing songs lined with honey 
Will you let me be your bunny? 
     Let my hands make your heart flush
     Our loose lips lock and don't rush
My love will make your eyes runny