The Fairytale
Contentment is only an elusion, mass delusion,
A fairytale: that comforts us wretched ones
We who suffer through this human existence.
Daily trying to go the distance.
We continue to dream our beautiful dreams,
Create get rich Schemes
Destroying our self esteems
Our soul cries and screams…..
The Fairytale will not wipe away the tears.
Mend a broken heart and dispel our hidden fears.
Nor heal your tormented spirit, after it has been torn apart.
Your mind in fragments, about to depart.
But then, through the blinding darkness of your pain,
There shines the light of hope, lit with a tiny grain of faith.
And you find the strength to try again.
And open your eyes to another day.
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poem by Monciana Edmondson
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What do you live for...
What do you live for?
What is the purpose of each breath?
From birth to death?
From whence comes the power in every step?
Everyday that you rise
Are you one that perpetuates lies?
For the new clothes, For the new shoes
Never quite getting life's vital clues...
Is it a man, a woman? Your child?
Never just being, looking within and seeing....
The Ultimate sacrifice was Jesus Christ
Don't soul-mutilate in an effort to be nice...
Is it job or career?
Looking for the right path to steer?
Someone else's ideals
Developing your own, never quite appeals
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poem by Monciana Edmondson
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Heart Beats
The drum beats of your heart are strong and loud
Listen closely; in each beat your liberty is to be found
War drums that speak the language of love; self-love
The breath demands that voice be heard
That your true purpose be discerned
That the divine in you be reverently served
A war cry, so soft yet powerfully heard
The smiles I won't fake, each step that I take
The love that I make, for your own soul's sake
This your battle cry, the evil one trembles and shakes
I will live no lies, there will be no compromise
I can see the disguise, even with blinded eyes
Dance each day to the beat of your own drum.
Until that day when eternal peace shall come
How can you love me when you don't love yourself?
What can you share when you are filled with fear?
When you worship golden idols while kneeling on your bibles?
The Divine to be found not only in church
But also with a thorough soul search.
So dance, with life most times you only get one chance…
poem by Monciana Edmondson
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Life-cycle
I accepted the gift of life
Gestation: parasitic feeding, I grew
In the womb the seeds of life renew
Living cells moving to the sustaining rhythm of life
Then Birth pains cut my mother like a knife
I know breath with my first cry
I survived the first life journey, no I did not die
Mother I need you still: love me, feed me, teach me, protect me
I require it, I demand it, with naught but my tiny voice
This sacred Love never gave her a choice
I Grow into my own consciousness
The world can be a joyous place
With great joy I laugh, when in pain I cry
I have friends other family members that love me
I have learnt the ways of love and bore witness to its distortions
Intuitively I recognize beauty and her counterpart
I experience first hand the implications of greed: poverty
Disobedience; the harsh hand of punishment
The empowering high of courage
Heard the voice of reason, my foolishness discouraged
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poem by Monciana Edmondson
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A Simple No
Is it the light in my eyes?
Or the breadth of my thighs
Maybe the curve of my hips
And the smile on my lips?
There is Just me, no we
Each blessed individually
With the freedom to be.
I will dwell happily
In my own special reality
The wolf in disguise
I have learnt to be wise
You will not be my demise
I see through your lies.
I see the devil in your eyes
I will not compromise
With the enemy I will not fraternize
Deaf to the soft yearning beneath your smiles
I hear your retort
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poem by Monciana Edmondson
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My Last Man
The last man I was with helped me feel small
An attempt to make his soul seem tall
At first enthralled
What I found in his arms would make my mother appalled
My love for him filled me with shame
He would not call to hear me say his name
Our Love was his private game
He did not wish to see my face
I was not fit to share his space.
The last man I was with refused to share his light
And made me feel like I was creation's blight
He hid me from his inner world's sight
Too lost to see I was his tool
Never would he consider me a jewel
His private whore
Hidden behind a cast iron door
Illegal contraband
Not allowed through customs and into his land
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poem by Monciana Edmondson
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The Long Way Home
Home is where true love dwells
Life giving sustenance always flows from her wells
The comfort of her arms invites and compels
Nourishing those that would only seek
Her guiding light week after week
I left the safety of my mother's home
So excited, but I had long to roam
And I look and I look
In each garden and darkened nook
I fear I am lost, no home in sight
No one will have mercy on my terrifying plight
I think I have taken the long way home.
I was his temporary toy
Being close to him; my temporary joy
Passion burnt so hot, it threatened to destroy
But I viewed his dirty bag of tricks
Appeared like a welcomed oasis
Until kindness changed to cruel faces
I have learnt to recognize those particular Places
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poem by Monciana Edmondson
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