Walking through time
Thinking of you
Receding from yesterday
Turning towards tomorrow
Waiting
For
The sun
To
Chase away
My
Desperation
Inspiration
Reverberation
Pushes me forward
Past
The spawn
Of

Living carnage
Wallowing
In
Decadent squalor
Contained
Restrained
Some call it
Freedom

Dreams
Have a color
All their own
Swirling colors
Shake my body
Taunt spectators
No longer awed
By
Ethereal mysteries
Revolving forms

Time stands still
When you’re not near
Diminished desire
Tells itself
The fire will return
When
The moon
Is
Full of light

Selling the nation’s youth
In
Every possible way
Preaching accepted truth
They devour yesterday
Regurgitate a thought
Imitation
Indoctrination
They claim
To
Despise
Content
To
Gorge themselves
Secure in knowing
The familiar stranger
Danger that’s not danger
Exposing breasts
Not meant to nourish
Her flesh calls me
With eyes that dare me
To
Not be human

She loves me
She hates me
She destroys me
Then wants me

Preludes end
Sometimes
They take flight
Sonic memory
Forgets itself
Abandons all
For
That
Still to come

The rains
Have not yet fallen
But
Soon they will
Torrents
Of
Silver rain
Radiating auras
Into
The vastness
Of
The Milky Way
The steady percussion
Of
Premonition

Seven colors
Of
Time
Remind me
That
Everything is relative
As we
Orbit a star
Floating in space

Another trip
Around
The
Sun
Leaves me feeling
As if
I’ve been here before
As though
I’ve been striving
All my life
To
Get back
To
Where
I’ve already been

Amanda Graham

Amanda Graham

Editor at NY Literary Magazine
Amanda holds an M.A. in History. She loves well-written poetry and romance novels. Amanda has 2 cats and a 3-year-old son.
Amanda Graham