by Roseanne Morales
A growing sensation never there,
a dream you woke up from, wondering
did it even happen, in another life,
perhaps another death never recorded?
This be is not to be, no question
asked or answered, just a hard decision.
Truth was never in the bed,
re-made, you never slept
but rolled away from wet spots.
Drops of bleach scour everything,
repair what’s broke but can’t replace what’s damaged.
Still, on days your guard is dropped,
do you remember as you lay there on your stainless bed,
seeing something tabled, something set
off to the side, saying “Please do come back later
when you know you’ve made the only right decision,
when it all comes screaming, just the same but never quite the selfsame life”?
Back to the Drawing Board
Gullibility turned me to a Cynic,
belief made me a bad Cynic,
now I’m gullible about my Cynicism.
Beware of isms,
God is not an ism,
My Cynicism is a fallacy
just like religion,
just like killing for religion.
God did not write
a book on killing
and cares little for what we do.
We are here
and God is there,
our maker, perhaps.
Perhaps God made us,
perhaps God made us
nothing like himself.
Of this I am not cynical,
if God made us, he made us far too ugly
and now he’s a wee bit verklempt
about rectifying His mistake.
The Effects of Pressure
It seems to me
that too much emphasis
is put upon a bauble
that is simply
the result of too much pressure
weighing down upon
a piece of coal
escaped from hellfire,
I had a diamond.
changed it over time,
exerted its revenge,
until a drop of blood
became a ruby
cut so many times
that in the facet of an argument
exploded into slivers.
until this day
like scars upon my heart.
About the Author:
Rose Aiello Morales is a poet living in Marietta, Ga. Mad Swirl, Red Fez, Synaeresis, The Pangolin Review, Blood, Ink, and Tears, and the Stray Branch Magazine have recently included her poems in their recent issues. She also has several books of short stories and poetry available on Amazon.com