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Poetess & Writer. Mother of the hidden moon. Healing with spilled ink and tears. A soul aged with the things of night.

A poem for the needy and hungry. The twin flames’ conversation.

Photo by Mia Harvey on Unsplash

Let’s not think about the things we do
Nor about the words we’re gonna say,
My hope is for the taste of what dreams have to offer,
A proud thick lick across a pillared ocean, you,
Where it brings me back down —
This heavenly hell, a tranquil siege.

“I want you to know a token —
I want everything, the every you,
A day full of nothing but how it will never stop.”

I wanna know how you breathe with me
Everything as close to the soul —
As this belief of beginning and ending,
Leaves with the floods you leave…

A prompt poem, mischief or laughter in the dark. For a deity near and far.

Photo by Joshua Rondeau on Unsplash

As gentle as the midnight current carries us,
We’d walk and carry the story on
Meeting those with memories and dreams,
We’d all seen what they can be.

Simple games, simple beings with complex facets,
Gods and giants,
He, whose gift was shapeshifting and knowing self,
Smiles and laughter spouting from the dark.

His mischief, just as dark
Malice isn’t always,
Yet the fun was the start of it all
Grubbing fun from all parts of relentless and untethered.

Twisted, the royalness of kinks,
The joy is in being free
A rebel to choose where to be
Or to mess with fates as…

A poem about the celestial being whose words are in the silent and her bat signal beams.

Photo by Conrad Ziebland on Unsplash

Does the earth not sing lullabies
As she once did before,
When clothes of burnt sycamore
Leaves would drape you?

Young ones,
Please do remember —
That you have those as ancient
as those times.

They wonder in circles and perhaps —
Cycles of my journey,
They have mapped and planned plenty,
Marking and signaling their choosing to me.

Yet don’t you know the neighbors —
The ones who sleep with lights on,
As they danced in their dreams,
Times of old have been how life has played.

From what they did then
‘Til now,
They loved their games
No gifts, young ones…

A poem for the stormed-mind and lucidly-lost

Photo by Marty Garcia on Unsplash

Under me
Where only the watery beings lived,
My weight held in between —
Breaking the water glass,
A gray sight of who I was and be
Even as blinded as I was in the fold.

Under me
The cold of the liquid glass
Spilled in and out of my ears
Reminding me why I came —
To sleep in the ungrasped bed,
I found what would wake me instead.

Under me
There was no planning
Nothing to make sense —
Of this sleep, I sought
When rest and bed couldn’t be farther
From cold, I would stare at nothing.

A poem for the love that changed, for the better.

Photo by Maksim Istomin on Unsplash

How it sounds after these years —
Still of honey and worn-worry
I’m still wandering of this life,
How it will leave me here —
Taken me next.

We aren’t the same of kids
Or lost adults,
Love is ageless of its own name
How it feels —
Is the priceless we pay in life and time.

Our choices — colliding,
It hadn’t been the moonlit stories I believed,
I have never seen them —
Yet, I wanted to believe the journey would see me through,
I’ve believed in the thought of it all.

You weren’t the ghost I’d seen,

A poem for the one, who's about to walk through the door.

Photo by Matheus Frade on Unsplash

Looking at love from the other side,
The anti-love I used to think:
Let it be.”
Maybe it wasn’t meant to be.”
The year wouldn’t be any different
Until you walked here,
You have seen my weighted means —
My bubblegum dreams.

Yet you wanted me near,
Wanting to hold something opposite of gaunt,
A moving breeze with calamity,
Tied to the moon,
A rise and fall for the clouds,
Above it all —
The human of a lost vision,
The spirit of a Goddess-Queen, asleep.

In your arms and near the earthen hands;
You grabbed my soul deep,
Reminding me with…

A poem from one who knows discrimination but who doesn’t know what to do but to write and scream.

Photo by Nathan Dumlao on Unsplash

Wealthy in physical abundance,

There are plenty of relations,
Synonymous with how this situation plays,
A relevance of only those with faces can seek,
It’s all a part of the stimulation.

Life with nothing but expectations,
You do what you’re told but still…
“You’re no better than an animal,”
All this quick deliberation.

Speculation of recognition,
I’m hoping we’re moving forward,
The tables have been turning —
These generations, still walked, inflicted.

There are calculations to make the world,
A safer place, making changes from dilapidation
I hope you all know,
We no longer sit silent.


T.S. Narkissa Luna

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