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Dana Bain Poem
The waters no longer hot, just a cold depthless sea.
The young girls 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.
Was the bath ever even hot?
or had she forgot-
to turn the tap and make it hot.
Copyright © Dana Bain | Year Posted 2025
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Dana Bain Poem
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
I'm not your priority,
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 Moon's faint silver glow.
Her petals begin to shrivel, wrinkle and drop.
She was no longer able to look up to the treetops.
Her sight became twisted and slim,
For her flower petals drain of
her sweet colour.
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 stumbles.
For a Flower who dares to strive with only
a moon will not thrive.
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 have a dream,
a dream no one else can seem to grasp.
Just paper and ink smudges- that wouldnt make a pay,
They say.
A thousand lives in a story, a story I control.
malicious Beasts, a heart ache or a heart-break,
endless possibilities.
She sits there scattered at her desk, a thousand thoughts,
and a fight to be fought.
Thus she stayed silent, a word for each unheard voice.
Words that made her feel alive,
as her smile had been deprived.
Her swelling eyes that were dripping-
a drip for all her anguish,
that would send the words spilling.
Words that were more than just words,
more than any thrilling conversation.
Words that had dreamt to be voiced,
but were seen as absurd.
The blank ink spilling onto the page,
only understood by her, no rejoice
just bitter need for another voice.
The invisible ink she called it,
her closest friend.
But was it really just that, or
the longing to become a writer,
to inspire another fighter.
To pour ones heart into a text,
and connect with all the rest reading.
Not just a teacher scanning anymore,
to my hard longed planning,
but the need for an audience.
I have a dream.
A dream that I can connect with another,
to have an effect, through my words.
That at the age of 20,
I can have home:
dual desks, words that matter and
paper that roams.
Eyes that no longer cry,
for I instead dye my page with ink that shone,
created by man,
and the pen gripped by her hand in desperation.
Once the ink was intertwined with paper,
she might have the chance to publish later.
But was it really an option
to publish her puddles of ink,
or had she just became
too close to who she called
"The invisible ink".
Copyright © Dana Bain | Year Posted 2026
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Dana Bain Poem
The light in my eyes eventually died down,
It was nothing more than a split, but
Even that can be put out.
Copyright © Dana Bain | Year Posted 2026
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Dana Bain Poem
You are like a dandelion;
Submerged by seeds of life,
But once all that was precious was gone,
You were nothing but a centre longing.
Remember how heavy I once was with colour,
My petals that were incapable of growing any duller.
The children that would pass by calling flower,
The rest calling weed, a label that wouldn't tower.
A sun which so eagerly would send its beams,
A life so innocent it seems.
My petals now scattering wishes to those around,
My dandelion clock grew larger but I am bound.
I am lighter, but i am less.
A new version of myself, is this for the very best?
A colour still so vivid but no longer primary,
Why must I be the aerie for these seeds.
Overcome with joy, the children return to do their deeds.
Bringing me to their mouth, to blow my exterior, leaving me bare.
My cypselae sawing through the air to restart the cycle else where.
Yet for me I'm dropped down, disregarded without a thought.
My dandilion clock- or so they call it, had reached its end.
A wish for each child that I would lend,
But nothing more for me in the end.
I stand still while children laugh, filled with glee.
My petals transformed, my colour drained.
I ached, my body that was strained-
Missing its purpose. Missing its petals and new beauty.
The wishes given away, in trade for happiness thats my duty.
My second form as a flower, repurposed I am.
But was this what I wanted or was i just being stolen from.
Copyright © Dana Bain | Year Posted 2026
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Dana Bain Poem
Why yearned for something you pushed away.
Why yearned for something you cannot have.
Why yearn for the world when you pushed your world away
Copyright © Dana Bain | Year Posted 2026
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