Little butterflies, flutter flutter, under my little ribs. This is a disease. Love bug or stomach bug, who knows the difference? If there even is one. Regardless, it evolves, waiting to burst from their cocoons, budding under my ribs.
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Cats out of the bag now, Let it play in the yard, Get a lay of the land, And learn if the dark fabric Was home or hell.
The land won’t be kind, It never is. Cursed apples and forbidden trees, Pretty sickness waits to settle, Health demand a sacrifice.
But play! If there’s still a yard. Tell me, Is that heat you feel A gentle summers kiss Or the paint peeling from the walls?
Let the cat return to its bag. That fabric was neither home nor hell. It kept that kitten safe from both. Hope and loss and all other poison, Can’t burrow into that bag.
But do you want that, feline friend? You’re out of the bag now. The light may be from dawn or danger, But nonetheless, You won’t ever be in the dark.
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The ducks are lining up again, Nice neat rows, Waiting to attack. Me?
No, surely not. I give the commands. *I* give the commands?
They're stareing me down now, Bleak black beady eyes, With the glint of expectation.
Say something. What? Never the wrong words. Don’t ok an attack. “Attack.” The last word I can remember.
The last word I’ll ever remember. For the ducks, Dumb drones, Took their leader's word to heart. And I met a feathery death.
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She squints at the skies, as if to undo a spell. “I feel unwell.”
“Pray tell.”
“This sadness, it’s here to dwell.”
“Tragic.”
“Do fix it. Just do your magic.”
“Don’t worry my dear, it’s nothing to fear. It’s ennui, when it passes you’ll cheer.”
“Ennui.” She said, repeating to herself,
the funny word with some intrigue.
“Ennui.” She smiled to herself now,
the funny word bringing some joy.
“I feel ennui.” She pouted and sighed,
while feeling it melt away.
“I feel ennui!” She swoon with a gasp,
delicate fingers over her closed eyes.
She laid her head on his lap, and sighed,
“Free me from this ennui!”
A silent second passed. Then two.
She opened he eyes. Her company smiled.
“Won’t you free me from ennui?”
She asked once more, peering expectantly back.
He chuckled, ran his fingers though her hair and said,
“I fear I’m already late, for ennui is not your current state.”
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Will you be enough to fill in the dark space that takes the shape of your silhouette?
Measure up the the hollow image formed from your form, but stretched by perception and a trick of the eye.
Who am I to you?
Was it a shadow — that alluring mystery — that drew you here?
How many seconds before the light dissolves that darkness,
And you see the life that cast the flat image?
Will you long for the shadow then,
And wish you’d kept your ignorance, your bliss?
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Where do pretty things belong in the world?
Behind a glass case?
Where it shall ach with restlessness,
Stuck in amber as time flies around it?
Or perhaps it is in the void within our atoms,
Where only God and space know how to be.
Or are the pretty things you and I,
Waiting to throw stones at each other,
from the belief that beauty shields against all ailments?
Put down the stones, love.
I am only flesh and blood,
God’s own child, still learning to crawl in this world.
As a son of the Father, can’t you sympathize with this sentiment?
It is the same amber that traps the both of us,
The same elements that flow through our veins.
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Soften your heart, child.
Be free with forgiveness,
For on the other side of anger,
Is the hollow mourning for lost time.
All rights reserved © 2022 Josephine Joyil
We go to a prison themed school,
Don’t break the rules,
Retribution can be so cruel.
So long as you wear the school tie,
Don’t catch the eyes,
Of the principle, so you won’t cry.
Too bad that you need the tool,
This education, without which you’d be the fool,
How gruel(ing).
You may think your just passing by,
But without the high,
Of self respect,
Can you say you merely gave us just your best?
And when those slackers go slackin’ by,
Riding the wave of their papa’s buys,
And growing addicted to mama’s high praise.
You know you’d be denied the raise,
When the time comes to make the living,
From blood and tears effaced.
Cause one thing that prison theme school taught you,
Is where to find your cue,
Stand in you place,
While your better ups become all the craze.
Sure, go to your prison themed school,
See you on the other side, fool,
But when you sell your mind to get there,
Don’t say I didn’t warn you, that it’s not fair.
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The present won’t move forward,
All rights reserved © 2018 Josephine Joyil
So you reminisce the past.
There’s nothing to work toward,
You wonder if things would last.
As nostalgia clouds the mind,
The good dreams taste bitter sweet.
You wonder if you left behind,
The better days, in hurried fleet.
When childhood faces come to mind,
You wonder if you’ll ever see,
The people who were once so kind,
At the times you were in need.
These faces you saw yesterday,
Who you’ll see tomorrow, but never again…
The faces who have led your way,
Who were by your side without a gain.
This is life, my child listen!
You’ll only see when time had run,
When the evening sun comes down in glisten,
You’ll see at last, that life was fun.
Fun- had you been there to hear the laughter,
Of your peers with whom you grew,
But you had wanted to grow faster,
Now food for worms, you have to go!
The voice of God guides me
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To start this life afresh,
To forget the unforgettable–
A voice not to second guess,
The voice that I have trusted
At dawn of day that’s life,
A day that I shall walk through
Till God’s word calms the strife.
The trifles of this world
Shall strain not my soul,
For I know of God’s word,
The word of life that’s whole
For all those that are broken,
Contentment God shall grant,
For the cross of Jesus opened
The gates of Heaven’s land.
The Voice that welcomes back
A banished child of Eve.
The water that will cleanse
A sinning soul that grieves.
A helper God shall send,
Who shall guide me through.
A light at tunnel’s end,
That shines in radiant hues.
The sadness may persist,
And through it all I stand,
For I know of God’s gift,
He knows and understands.
The fruit of Eden seeks
The hopeless and alone.
Temptation hunts the weak,
But God will guide them home.
Our worldly needs may ask
To leave the just and right.
My soul shan’t leave its task,
To praise God from hill’s height.
When Heaven’s gate is opened,
The choir of angels sing.
A hymn of praise and worship,
Songs of eternity ring.
