NPM 30 Day Challenge: Day 30

noiselessly I slip inside
less substantial than a shadow
and take up residence in your soul

feeding on your doubts
gorging on your insecurities
choking on your hope
smothering your every dream
slowly bleeding you dry

everything you fear I am
unavoidable as the night

I am decay, I am Death
I am Time
     and I am coming for you

© Wondra Vanian 2012

NPM 30 Day Challenge: Day 29

the words mean nothing
the promises even less

the look tells all
the touch even more

your furtive glance
your trembling lips
your hestitant touch
     say everything you can't


© Wondra Vanian 2012

NPM 30 Day Challenge: Day 16

spinning, swirling, spiralling
          out of control
          out of time

          out of my fucking mind!

delusioin, disgust, disease
          sick of life
          sick of death

          sick of being so damned sick!

© Wondra Vanian 2012

NPM 30 Day Challenge: Day 11

inspiration does not come
with a crack of thunder
striking you down to the core

inspiration does not come
like a tidal wave
bowling you over, sweeping you away

inspiration comes
in the quiet of a winter morn
tiptoeing ever so quietly past

© Wondra Vanian 2012

NPM 30 Day Challenge: Day 8

When I was a girl
I spoke with the voice of hope.
I had dreams.

When I was a maid
I spoke with the voice of certainty.
I knew my mind.

When I was a woman
I spoke with the voice of purpose.
I had ambitions.

When I was a wife
I spoke with the voice of love.
I found my soul mate.

When I was a mother
I spoke with the voice of compassion.
I loved my family.

When I was a crone
I spoke with the voice of wisdom.
I traveled the world.

Thought I am dead and cannot speak
my life holds meaning.
I left a legacy.

© Wondra Vanian 

My Favourite Poems: Emily Dickinson, Because I could not stop for Death (479)

I promised that, during the course of National Poetry Month, I would share some of my favourite poems and poets with you. I'll start today with one of my all time favourites: "Because I could not stop for Death".

Because I could not stop for Death –
He kindly stopped for me –
The Carriage held but just Ourselves –
And Immortality.

We slowly drove – He knew no haste
And I had put away
My labor and my leisure too,
For His Civility –

We passed the School, where Children strove
At Recess – in the Ring –
We passed the Fields of Gazing Grain –
We passed the Setting Sun –

Or rather – He passed Us –
The Dews drew quivering and Chill –
For only Gossamer, my Gown –
My Tippet – only Tulle –

We paused before a House that seemed
A Swelling of the Ground –
The Roof was scarcely visible –
The Cornice – in the Ground –

Since then – 'tis Centuries – and yet
Feels shorter than the Day
I first surmised the Horses' Heads
Were toward Eternity –

(It should be fairly obvious but, for peace of mind, I'll remind you that I, of course, do not own the rights to this poem.)

Even though I've read this hundreds of times, it never fails to give me a chill. Could any one handle Death with such 'Civility'? I couldn't - but this poem isn't just about Death, it's also about Life - and I have yet to (and may never) meet either with such objective serenity.