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Dana Bain Poem
She sits there with her legs sprawled like a washed up animal,
The waters no longer hot, She didnt even enjoy it.
Her shackle was a perfect miraculous fit,
Dragging her to the depths of the shallow box;
The anchor that would sit.
Her locks of hair were dripping-
A drip for all her anguish,
That would send the box spilling.
Thus she stayed silent,
Pop, bam, bang for every bubble that popped-
a new batch would flock.
Lifting up her arms in despair,
She looked at the radiant circle. It wasn't fair.
The circle bulged created by man,
But she couldnt even use her hand-
To get out of the cell, it would be a bore.
For she had the capacity for no more,
She wailed and cried and still couldn't thrive.
For her smile was deprived,
It ate her up and left her in dark.
Was the bath ever even hot?
Or had she forgot-
To turn the tap and make it hot,
Reaching for the closest tap.
Copyright © Dana Bain | Year Posted 2025
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Dana Bain Poem
Her Death
-The trigger lay steady and sardonic in the hands of the ready stalker.
-She lays unaware , a spot for each grand representation of naiveness in her hair.
Full of innocence-didn’t even have chance to mature. For the hunter was to ensure the value of her fur, by stripping her bare of what she had earned.
-she was nothing more than her new found horror
Copyright © Dana Bain | Year Posted 2025
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Dana Bain Poem
Your words can sting, so can mine.
Yet, our hearts still stay intertwined.
Love's not simple Nor complex.
Yet through the rose remains briar
Capable of many things such as fire.
Its thorns cut and tare
Sending tension through the air.
Though through even the darkest of nights
After one too many fights,
your divine,
still manages to shine.
Just a singular drop in whole of Neptune,
A precise pick of the drip giving fortune.
A voice so bitter, yet so sweet, I'm still able
To call out your name in the unstable.
In the end your voice speaks
A soft call that sends me to devines peak.
Though the tares may bleed,
Your hand still proceeds
To fix the damage with great caution.
A smile ending all the commotion
For you my dear I wait
Muttering the words I love you yet to await.
Copyright © Dana Bain | Year Posted 2025
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Dana Bain Poem
I'm not your priotry,
Nor do I care.
I've learnt my place, it's certainly not fair.
The flower dares to strive but dreams to grow,
but she doesn't know she needs more
than the moons faint silver glow.
Her petals begin to shrivel,wrinkle and drop.
She was no longer able to look up to the treetop.
Her sight becomes dim,twisted and slim,
For her flower petals becomes more dim.
She yerned and regretted rejecting the
warmth and the light,
As the moon only had to offer the night.
It's shadows casted stripping her bare,
But she was to blame as the dweller.
A lesson tought well as she wobbles and tobbles.
For a flower who dares to strive With only
a moon will not thrive.
Copyright © Dana Bain | Year Posted 2025
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